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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Maker of Opportunities, by George Gibbs
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Maker of Opportunities
+
+Author: George Gibbs
+
+Illustrator: Edmund Frederick
+
+Release Date: January 28, 2012 [EBook #38702]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MAKER OF OPPORTUNITIES ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Donald Cummings and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was
+produced from images generously made available by The
+Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ THE MAKER OF
+ OPPORTUNITIES
+
+
+
+
+ By GEORGE GIBBS
+
+ The Maker of Opportunities
+ The Forbidden Way
+ The Bolted Door
+ Tony's Wife
+ The Medusa Emerald
+
+ D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
+ NEW YORK
+
+
+[Illustration: "But the Great Head rocks didn't hear."]
+
+
+
+
+ THE MAKER OF
+ OPPORTUNITIES
+
+
+ BY
+ GEORGE GIBBS
+
+ AUTHOR OF "THE FORBIDDEN WAY,"
+ "THE BOLTED DOOR," ETC.
+
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+
+ ILLUSTRATED BY
+ EDMUND FREDERICK
+
+
+ NEW YORK AND LONDON
+ D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
+ 1912
+
+
+
+
+ COPYRIGHT, 1912, BY
+ D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
+
+
+ Copyright, 1905, by The Metropolitan Magazine Company
+ Copyright, 1905, 1906, by Street and Smith
+ Copyright, 1911, by the Red Book Corporation
+
+
+ _Published April, 1912_
+
+
+ Printed in the United States of America
+
+
+
+
+LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
+
+
+                                                          FACING
+                                                            PAGE
+
+ "But the Great Head rocks didn't hear."    _Frontispiece_
+
+ "'I beg pardon,' he repeated, 'but isn't this yours?'"       66
+
+ "'What a lot of vermilion you use.'"                        142
+
+ "'You are supposed to be playing the golf of the New
+   Era.'"                                                    256
+
+
+
+
+THE MAKER OF OPPORTUNITIES
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+
+It was two o'clock. Mr. Mortimer Crabb pushed back the chair from
+his breakfast tray and languidly took up the morning paper. He had a
+reputation (in which he delighted) of dwelling in a Castle of Indolence,
+and took particular pains that no act of his should belie it. There were
+persons who smiled at his affectations, for he had a studio over a
+stable in one of the cross streets up town, where he dawdled most of his
+days, supine in his easy chair. The age was running to athletics, so Mr.
+Crabb in public had become the apostle and high priest of flaccidity. He
+raised a supercilious eyebrow at tennis, drawled his disparagement of
+polo and racquets and recoiled at the mere mention of college football.
+But those highest in Crabb's favor knew that there were evenings when he
+met professional pugilists at this same shrine of ęstheticism, who, at
+liberal compensation, matched their skill and heft to his.
+
+Nor was he a mean antagonist in conversation. For Mr. Crabb had a slow
+and rather halting way of making the most trenchantly witty remarks,
+and a style exactly suited to the successful dinner table. And when a
+satiated society demanded something new it was to Crabb they turned for
+a suggestion. Mrs. Ryerson's Gainsborough ball, Jack Burrow's remarkable
+ushers' dinner, and the pet-dog tea at Mrs. Jennings' country place were
+fantasies of the mind of this Prester John of the effete. When to these
+remarkable talents is added a yacht and a hundred and fifty thousand a
+year, it is readily to be seen that Mr. Mortimer Crabb was a person of
+consequence, even in New York.
+
+Mr. Crabb scanned the headlines of the _Sun_, while McFee fastened his
+boots. But his eye fell upon an item that made him sit up straight and
+drop his monocle.
+
+"H--m!" he muttered in a strange tone. "So Dicky Bowles is coming home!"
+
+He peered at the item again and read, frowning.
+
+     "Owing to the necessity for the immediate departure of the
+     prospective groom for Europe, the marriage of Miss Juliet
+     Hazard, daughter of Mr. Henry Hazard, to Mr. Carl Geltman will
+     take place on Wednesday, June twentieth, instead of in October,
+     the month at first selected."
+
+Crabb's expression had suddenly undergone a startling change, unknown in
+the Platonic purlieus of the Bachelors' Club. The brows tangled, the
+lower jaw protruded, while the feet which had languidly emerged from
+the dressing-room a few moments before, had partaken suddenly of the
+impulses which dominated the entire body. He rose abruptly and took a
+few rapid turns up and down the room.
+
+"So! They didn't dare wait! Poor little Julie! There ought to be better
+things in store for her than that! And Dicky won't be here until
+Thursday morning! It's too evident--the haste."
+
+He dropped into his chair, picked up the paper again, and re-read the
+item. June twentieth! And to-day was Sunday, June seventeenth! Geltman
+had taken no more chances than decency demanded. Crabb remembered the
+calamitous result of Hazard's ventures in Wall Street, and it was common
+gossip that, had it not been for Carl Geltman, the firm of Hazard and
+Company would long since have ceased to exist. It was easy to read
+between the lines of the newspaper paragraph. Between the ruin of her
+father's fortunes and her own, duty left Juliet Hazard no choice. And
+here was Dicky Bowles upon the ocean coming back to claim his own. It
+was monstrous.
+
+Mr. Crabb laid aside the paper and paced the floor again. Then walked to
+the window and presently found himself smiling down upon the hansom
+tops.
+
+"The very thing," he said. "The very thing. It's worth trying at any
+rate. Jepson will help. And what a lark!" And then aloud:
+
+"McFee," he called, "get me a hansom."
+
+Mr. Carl Geltman sat in his office of chamfered oak, and smiled up at a
+photograph upon his desk, conscious of nothing but the dull ecstasy
+which suffused his ample person and blinded him to everything but the
+contemplation of his approaching nuptials. The watch-chain stretched
+tightly between his waistcoat pockets somehow conveyed the impression
+of a tension of suppressed emotions, which threatened to burst their
+confines. His rubicund visage exuded delight, and his short fingers
+caressed his blond mustache. It was difficult for him to comprehend that
+all of his ambitions were to be realized at once. Money, of course,
+would buy almost anything in New York, but Mr. Geltman had hardly dared
+to dream of this. Until he had seen Miss Hazard he had never even
+thought of marriage. After he had seen her he had thought of nothing
+else.
+
+After working late in his office, Geltman dined alone at a fashionable
+restaurant in a state of beatitude, then lit his cigar and walked forth
+into Broadway for a breath of air before going to bed. The sooner to
+sleep, the sooner would his wedding day dawn. But the glare of the
+lights distracted him, the bells jangled out of harmony with his mood,
+so he sought a side street and walked on toward the river, where he
+could continue his dreams in quiet, until the hurrying thoroughfare was
+far behind.
+
+He had reached a spot between tall warehouses or factories when he felt
+himself seized from behind by strong arms, and before he could make an
+outcry something soft was thrust into his mouth and he had a dim sense
+of sudden darkness, of hands not too tender lifting him into a carriage,
+a brief whispered order, a hurried drive, more carrying, the sound of
+lapping water and ship's bells, the throbbing of ferry paddles, the
+motion of a boat, and the damp night air of the river through his thin
+evening clothes.
+
+When Geltman opened his eyes it was to fix them rather dully upon the
+deck-beams of a yacht. The rushing water alongside sent rapid reflections
+dancing along their polished surfaces. At first it occurred to him that
+he was on an ocean steamer. Had he been married, and was this--? He
+looked around. No. He was a good sailor, but the vessel rolled and
+pitched sharply in a way to which he was unaccustomed. He arose to a
+sitting posture and tried to piece together the shattered remnants of his
+recollection. He felt strangely stupid and inert. How long had he been
+lying in the bunk? He remarked that he was attired very properly in
+pajamas--very fine pajamas they were, too, of silk such as he wore
+himself. Upon the leather-covered bench opposite was a suit of flannels
+carefully folded, white canvas shoes, stockings upon the deck, and other
+unfamiliar undergarments disposed upon hooks by the cabin door.
+
+He rose suddenly, his mind dully trying to grasp the situation.
+He lurched to the porthole and looked out. It was a wilderness of
+amber-color and white, rather bewildering and terrifying seen so near at
+hand, for Geltman had been accustomed to look upon the ocean from the
+security of fifty feet of freeboard. Far away where the leaping wave
+crests met the line of sky, he could just distinguish the faint blue of
+the land. He was seized with a sudden terror and, turning, he ran to the
+cabin door and tried to open it. It was locked. He threw himself against
+it and cried aloud, but his voice was lost in the rush of wind and water
+without. His despairing eye at this moment lit upon a push-button by the
+side of the bunk. He touched it with his finger and anxiously waited.
+There was no sound. He sat upon the edge of the bunk, conscious of a
+cold wind blowing upon his bare toes and of a dull ache within which
+proclaimed the lack of food or drink, or both. He rang again and renewed
+his shouting. In a moment there was the sound of a key in the lock, the
+door opened, and a sober, smooth-shaven person in brass buttons stood in
+the door.
+
+"Did you ring, sir?" said the man, respectfully.
+
+"I did," said Geltman, wrathfully.
+
+"Yes, sir," said the man. "Can I get you anything, sir?"
+
+"Can you get me--?" began the bewildered Geltman. "Is there anything you
+_can't_ get me? Get me some food--my own clothes--and get me--get
+me--out of this. Where am I? What am I doing here?"
+
+"You were sleeping, sir," said the man, imperturbably. "I thought you
+might not wish to be disturbed."
+
+Geltman looked around him again as though unwilling to credit the
+evidence of his senses. He saw that the man kept his hand upon the door
+and eyed him narrowly.
+
+"I've been drugged and shanghaied. What boat is this? Where are we?"
+
+"We're at sea, sir," said the man, quietly. "Off Fire Island, I believe,
+sir."
+
+"Fire Island," he cried, "and this--" as memory came back with a horrible
+rush--"what day is this?"
+
+"Wednesday, June the twentieth," replied the man, calmly.
+
+Geltman raised his hands toward the deck beams and sank upon the bunk on
+the verge of collapse. He remembered now--it was his wedding day!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+
+As the fog upon his memory still hung heavily he raised his head toward
+the man at the door of the cabin. That person was eyeing him rather
+pityingly and had come a step forward into the room.
+
+"Shall I be getting you something, sir?" he was saying again.
+
+Geltman sprang unsteadily to his feet.
+
+"No," he cried. "I'm going to get out of this."
+
+"In pajamas, sir?" said the man, reproachfully.
+
+Geltman glanced down at the flimsy silk garment.
+
+"Yes--in pajamas," he cried, hotly. And with an imprecation he strode
+past the outraged servant and rushed through the saloon and up the
+companion. As he raised his head and shoulders above the deck he was
+immediately aware of a chill wind which was singing sharply through the
+rigging. A gentleman, in a double-breasted suit and yachting cap, was
+standing aft steadying a telescope toward a distant schooner. By his
+side was a short and very stocky man with a bushy red beard and brass
+buttons.
+
+"What is the meaning of this outrage?" he cried, wildly addressing the
+man in the yachting cap. "Are you the owner of this yacht?"
+
+The gentleman calmly lowered his telescope, passed it to the bearded
+man, turned mildly toward the tousled apparition and looked at him from
+top to toe while the sportive wind gleefully defined Geltman's generous
+figure.
+
+"I say, old man," he said, smiling, "hadn't you better get into some
+clothes?"
+
+"C--clothes be----" chattered Geltman. "I've been drugged, kidnapped,
+and shanghaied! Somebody's going to smart for this. Who are you? What
+does it mean?"
+
+The enraged brewer, with his arms waving, his slender garment flapping,
+his inflamed countenance and ruffled hair, presented the wildest
+appearance imaginable. The man in the yachting cap wore an expression of
+commiseration and exchanged a significant glance with the red-bearded
+man.
+
+"There now," said he, raising a protesting hand, "we're all your friends
+aboard here. You're in no danger at all, except--" he smiled at the
+brewer's costume--"except from a bad cold."
+
+"What does this outrage mean?" cried Geltman anew. "You'll suffer for
+it. As long as I have a dollar left in the world----"
+
+"You really don't mean that," said the gentleman. "Go below now, that's
+a good fellow, get breakfast and some clothes."
+
+"No, I'll n--not," said the brewer in chilly syncopation. "I'm Carl
+Geltman, of Henry Geltman and Company, and I want an explanation of this
+outrage."
+
+The two men exchanged another look, and the red-bearded one tapped his
+forehead twice with a blunt forefinger.
+
+"I haven't the least idea what you're talking about, Mr. Fehrenbach,"
+said the man in the yachting cap, calmly.
+
+"Fehrenbach!" cried the brewer. "My name isn't Fehrenbach!" he screamed.
+"Otto Fehrenbach is on the East Side. I'm on the West. My name is
+Geltman, I tell you!"
+
+The man in blue looked gravely down at the astonished brewer and pushed
+a bell on the side of the cabin skylight.
+
+"That was one of the symptoms, Weckerly," he said aside to the man with
+the red beard.
+
+"Yes, Doctor," said the other quizzically. "The sea air ought to do him
+a lot of good."
+
+Geltman, now bewildered, limp and very much alarmed, suffered himself to
+be led shivering below by the two blue-shirted sailor-men. There he
+found the steward in the cabin with a drink, and the blue flannels, and
+a boy laying a warm breakfast in the saloon. He dressed. At table he
+discovered an appetite which even his troubled spirit had not abated.
+Hot coffee and a cigar completed his rehabilitation. His situation would
+have been an agreeable joke had it not been so tragic. He had learned
+enough to feel that he was powerless, that there had been some terrible
+mistake, and that the only way out of the difficulty was through the
+somewhat tortuous and sparsely buoyed channels of diplomacy.
+
+But he walked out upon deck with renewed confidence. It was early yet.
+If he could persuade his host of his mistake there was still time to run
+in shore where the telegraph might set all things right. The man in the
+yachting cap was smoking a pipe in the lee of the after hatch.
+
+"Will you please tell me your name?" began the brewer, constrainedly.
+
+"With all the good will in the world," said the other, rising. "I'm glad
+you're feeling better. I'm Doctor Norman Woolf of New York, and this,"
+indicating the red-bearded man, "is Captain Weckerly of the _Pinta_.
+Captain Weckerly--Mr. Fehrenbach."
+
+Geltman started at the repetition of the name, but he gave no other
+sign.
+
+"Would you mind," said the brewer, "telling me how I came aboard your
+boat?"
+
+"Not at all," said Woolf, easily. "You see, when I cruise on the _Pinta_
+I make it a point to leave all thought of my cases behind. But sometimes
+I break my rule, and when they told me of yours I made up my mind I
+should like to study you under intimate and extraordinary conditions and
+so----"
+
+"Really, I don't quite follow----"
+
+"And so I had to bring you out to the yacht on which I was just starting
+for a little run over to the Azores."
+
+"The Azores!"
+
+Dr. Woolf was smiling benignly at the unhappy brewer.
+
+"You know," he continued, "these cases of aphasia have a peculiar
+interest for me. It seems such a little slipping of the cogs. What's
+in a name, after all? Yours is an old and honored one. The Fehrenbachs
+have made beer for fifty years----"
+
+"It's a lie," shouted Geltman springing to his feet, unable longer to
+contain himself. "It's only thirty--and the stuff isn't fit to drink."
+
+"Pray be calm. Don't you know that if this was to get abroad, it would
+hurt your business?"
+
+"My business--the business of Geltman and Company----"
+
+"The business of Fehrenbach and Company," interrupted Dr. Woolf sternly.
+
+The unfortunate brewer with an effort contained himself. He knew that
+anger would avail him nothing. The only thing left was to listen
+patiently. He subsided again into his wicker chair and fastened his
+nervous gaze upon the distant horizon.
+
+"It's a pleasure to see you capable of self-control. If you can, I
+should like you to try and tell me how you happened to begin using the
+name of Geltman."
+
+How had he happened to use the name of Geltman!
+
+"What would you say," continued the Doctor, without awaiting the answer,
+"if I were to tell you that I was Christopher Columbus and that Captain
+Weckerly here was Francisco Pizarro or Hernandez Cortes? You'd say we
+were mistaken, wouldn't you? Of course you would. When you say that
+you're Geltman and we know you're Fehrenbach----"
+
+"Stop!" roared the unhappy brewer, springing to his feet. "Stop, for the
+love of Heaven, and let me off this floating madhouse!"
+
+"Calm yourself!"
+
+"Calm myself! Can you not see that the whole thing is a terrible
+mistake? You have taken me for some one else. Last evening, I tell you,
+I was knocked down and drugged. Then I was carried to a boat and brought
+here. Look in my clothes, my handkerchiefs, my linen, you will see the
+monogram or initials C. G. Will not that be enough to satisfy you?"
+
+"My dear sir, I assure you you were brought aboard in the very clothes
+you now wear. Even that cap was on your head. Can't you remember coming
+up the gangway with Captain Weckerly?" And then, half aloud, and with
+looks of misgivings toward the Captain, who was shaking his head, "He's
+worse than I supposed."
+
+Geltman had taken off the yachting cap and there, perforated in the band,
+were the letters O. F. He searched his pockets and found a handkerchief
+with the same initials. As he did so he saw that the two men were looking
+at him with a expression of new interest and concern. His mind was still
+befogged. For the first time he really began to doubt himself, and the
+evidence of his belated memory. He had not heard that Otto Fehrenbach was
+mad. Was it possible that after all some dreadful misfortune had happened
+to him, Geltman? That a blow he had received in falling had turned his
+mind, and that his soul had migrated to the body of the hated Fehrenbach?
+And if so, did the soul of Fehrenbach occupy _his_ body? Fehrenbach,
+sitting in _his_ office, directing _his_ business with the shoddy methods
+of the Fehrenbachs, driving _his_ horses, and perhaps--could it be that
+he was at this moment marrying Juliet Hazard in his place? The thought of
+it made him sick. He was dimly conscious of some science which dealt with
+these things. He had once read a story of a happening of this kind at a
+German university. He looked at these strangers before him and found
+himself returning in kind their mysterious glances. Was he mad? Or were
+they? Or were they all mad together? He glanced aloft at the swaying
+masts. And the yacht, too? Was it real or was that, too, some fantasy of
+a diseased imagination? The _Fliegende Holländer_ flitted playfully into
+his mind. Just forward of the cabin a group of sailors were standing
+looking at him and whispering. It was uncanny. Were they, too, in the
+same state as the others? It could not be. The vessel was real. Geltman
+or Fehrenbach--he, himself, was real. There must be some one aboard the
+accursed craft who would listen to him and understand. Bewildered, he
+walked forward. As he did so the group of sailor-men dissolved and each
+one hurried about some self-appointed task. He walked over to a man who
+was coiling a rope.
+
+"I say, my man," he said, "are you from New York?"
+
+"Yes, sir," said the man, but he looked over his shoulder to right and
+left as though seeking a mode of escape.
+
+"Did you ever happen to drink any of Geltman's beer?"
+
+The man gave the brewer one fleeting look, then dropped his coil and
+disappeared down the fo'c's'le hatch.
+
+The brewer watched the retreating figure with some dismay. He walked
+toward another man who was shining some bright work around the galley
+stovepipe. But the man saw him coming and vanished as the other had
+done. An old man with a gray beard sat on a ditty box at the lee rail,
+sewing a pair of breeches. He was chewing tobacco and scowling, but did
+not move as the landsman approached.
+
+"I say, my man," began the brewer again, "did you ever drink any of
+Geltman's beer?"
+
+The old man eyed him from head to foot before he answered. But there was
+no fear in his face--only pity--naked and undisguised.
+
+"Naw," he replied, spitting to leeward. "There ain't no beer in N' York
+fer me but Otto Fehrenbach's."
+
+Geltman looked at him a moment and then turned despairingly aft. The
+yacht was bewitched and they were all bewitched with her.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+
+"It's lucky Ollie Farquhar's fat," said Mortimer Crabb when Geltman was
+out of earshot. "It was neat, Jepson, beautifully neat. Did you ever see
+fish take the bait better? But he'll be coming to in a minute."
+
+Captain Jepson was watching the bewildered brewer. "He won't get much
+information there," he grinned.
+
+"It can't last much longer, though," said Crabb. "How much of a run is
+it to the coast?"
+
+"About an hour, sir."
+
+"Well, keep her on her course until eight bells. Then if he insists
+we'll run in and land him on the beach somewhere."
+
+"Aye, aye, sir."
+
+"It will soon be over now. He can't get in until to-morrow and
+then"--Crabb beamed with satisfaction--"and then it'll be too late.
+Stow your smile, Jepson. He's coming back."
+
+Not even this complete chain of circumstantial evidence could long avail
+against the brisk air and sunlight. In the broad expanse between the
+thumb and forefinger of his right hand Geltman noted the blue of some
+youthful tattooing. As he saw the familiar letters doubt took flight. He
+_was_ himself. There was no doubt of that. As he went aft again he
+smiled triumphantly.
+
+"Let's be done with nonsense, Dr. Woolf," he growled. "Look at that,"
+holding his hand before Crabb's eyes. "If I'm Otto Fehrenbach how is it
+that the letters C. G. are marked in my hand?"
+
+Crabb, his arms akimbo, stood looking him steadily in the eyes.
+
+"So," he said calmly, "you're awake at last!"
+
+He looked at Crabb and the Captain with eyes which saw not. What he had
+thought of saying and doing remained unsaid and undone. With no other
+word he lurched heavily forward and down the companion.
+
+"There'll be a hurricane in that quarter, Jepson, or I'm not weather
+wise," laughed Crabb. "We'd better run in now. There isn't much sea and
+the wind is offshore. We'll land him at Quogue or Westhampton. In the
+meanwhile, keep the tarpaulin over the for'ard boat so that he can't see
+the name on her. We'll use the gig. If he tries to peep over the stern
+we'll clap him in the stateroom. It will mean five years at least for me
+if he learns the name of the _Blue Wing_. So look sharp, Jepson, and
+keep an eye on him."
+
+"Never fear," said the Captain with a grin, and walked forward.
+
+Crabb walked the deck in high jubilation. He looked at his watch. Three
+o'clock! If McFee had followed his instructions Dicky Bowles and Juliet
+Hazard were man and wife. He had nicely figured his chances. To Geltman
+he was Dr. Woolf. To his crew he was Mr. Crabb taking an unfortunate
+relative for an airing; to Dicky Bowles he was the rescuer of forlorn
+damsels and the trump of good fellows.
+
+Crabb was fully prepared to carry the villainy through to the end. Of
+one thing he was certain, the sooner his guest was off the _Blue Wing_
+and safely landed the better.
+
+And so, when at last Geltman came on deck with the watchful Weckerly at
+his heels, Crabb noted the chastened expression upon the brewer's face
+with singular satisfaction.
+
+"I'll go ashore, if you please," he said, quietly.
+
+Crabb affected disappointed surprise.
+
+"Here? Now?" he said. "We're pretty far down the coast. That's Quogue in
+there. I can't very well run back to New York, but----"
+
+"Put me ashore, sir," said Geltman sulkily.
+
+When the gig was lowered, Crabb bowed the brewer over the side, his
+evening clothes tied in a paper package.
+
+"Good-by," said Crabb. "When you're done with the flannels, Mr. Geltman,
+send 'em to Fehrenbach."
+
+But Geltman had no reply. He had folded his arms and was gazing stolidly
+toward the shore. The last glimpse Crabb had of him was when the _Blue
+Wing_ drew offshore leaving him gesticulating wildly upon the beach in
+the glow of the setting sun.
+
+When the figure was but a speck in the distance Mortimer Crabb turned
+away and threw himself wearily in his wicker chair.
+
+"Where to now, sir?" asked Jepson.
+
+"Oh, anywhere you like."
+
+"Sandy Hook, sir?"
+
+"Oh, yes," he sighed, "as well go there as anywhere else. New York,
+Jepson."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Poor Crabb! In twenty-four hours he was, if anything, more bored than
+ever. The sight of the joyous faces of Dicky Bowles and his bride had
+done something to relieve the _tedium vitę_, but he knew that their joy
+was of themselves and not of him, and so he gave them a "God bless you"
+and his country place on Long Island for a few weeks of honeymooning. He
+had even had the presumption to offer them the _Blue Wing_, but Dicky,
+whose new responsibilities had developed a vein of prudence, refused
+point blank. Crabb shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"Suit yourselves," he laughed. "It's yours if you want it."
+
+"And have Geltman putting you in jail?"
+
+"Oh, _he_ won't trouble me."
+
+"How do you know?"
+
+"I've made some inquiries. He's dropped the thing."
+
+"Are you sure?"
+
+"Oh, yes. He's not so thick-skinned as he looks. That story wouldn't
+look well in print, you know."
+
+With an outburst of friendship, Dicky threw his arms around Crabb's
+shoulders and gave him a bear hug.
+
+"I'll never forget it, Mort, never! You're the salt of the earth----"
+
+"There, there, Dicky. Salt should be taken in pinches, not by the
+spoonful, and you've mussed my cravat! Be off with you and don't come
+back here until matrimony has sobered you into a proper sense of your
+new responsibilities to your Creator."
+
+From the window of his apartment Crabb watched Dicky's taxi spin up the
+avenue in the direction of the modest boarding-house which sheltered the
+waiting bride, then turned with a heavy sigh and rang for McFee. Love
+like that never comes to the very rich. He, Mortimer Crabb, was not a
+sentient being, but only a chattel, an animated bank account upon which
+designing matrons cast envious eyes and for which ambitious daughters
+laid their pretty snares. No, love like that was not for him--or ever
+would be, it seemed.
+
+His toilet made, Crabb strolled out for the air, wondering as he often
+did how the people on the street could smile their way through life,
+while he----
+
+A hansom passed, turned just beyond and drew up at the curb beside him,
+and a voice addressed him.
+
+"Crabb! Mortimer Crabb! By all that's lucky!"
+
+"Ross Burnett!" said Crabb, gladly. "I thought that you were dead. Have
+you dropped from heaven, man?"
+
+"No," laughed Ross, "not so far, only from China."
+
+Burnett dismissed the hansom at once and together they went to the
+Bachelors' Club near by, where, over a friendly glass, they gathered up
+the loose ends of their friendship. Crabb listened with new interest as
+his old friend gave him an account of what had happened in the five
+years which had intervened since they had last met, recalling piece by
+piece the unfortunate events which had led to his departure from New
+York, and Burnett, glad of receptive ears, rehearsed it for him.
+
+The boy had squandered his patrimony in Wall Street. Then by the grace
+of one of the senators from New York he obtained from the President an
+appointment as consular clerk, an office, which if it paid but little at
+home carried with it some dignity, a little authority, and certain
+appreciable perquisites in foreign ports.
+
+He had chosen wisely. At Cairo, where he had been sent to fill a
+temporary vacancy caused by the death of the consul general and
+subsequent illness of his deputy, he found himself suddenly in charge of
+the consular office in the fullest press of business, with diplomatic
+functions requiring both ingenuity and discretion.
+
+After all, it was very simple. The business of a consulate was child's
+play, and the usual phases in the life of a diplomat were to be
+requisitely met by the usages of gentility--a quality Burnett discovered
+was not too amply possessed by those political gentlemen who sat abroad
+in the posts of honor to represent the great republic.
+
+He thought that if he could get a post, however small, with plenary
+powers, he would be happy. But, alas! He had been away from home so long
+that he didn't even know whether his senator was dead or alive, and when
+he reached Washington, a month or so after the inauguration, he realized
+how small were his chances for preferment.
+
+The President and Secretary of State were besieged daily by powerful
+politicians, and one by one the posts coveted, even the smallest of
+them, were taken by frock-coated, soft-hatted, flowing-tied gentlemen,
+whom he had noticed lounging and chewing tobacco in the Willard Hotel
+lobby. It was apparently with such persons that power took preferment.
+His roseate dreams vanished. Ross Burnett was a mere State Department
+drudge again at twelve hundred a year!
+
+He told Crabb that he had spoken to the chief of the diplomatic bureau
+in despair.
+
+"Isn't there any way, Crowthers?" he had asked. "Can't a fellow ever get
+any higher?"
+
+"If he had a pull, he might--but a consular clerk----" The shake of
+Crowthers' head was eloquent.
+
+"Isn't there anything a fellow--even a consular clerk--could do to win
+promotion in this service?" he continued.
+
+Crowthers had looked at him quizzically.
+
+"Yes, there's one thing. If you could do that, you might ask the
+Secretary for anything you wanted."
+
+"And that----"
+
+"Get the text of the treaty between Germany and China from Baron Arnim."
+
+Crowthers had chuckled. Crabb chuckled, too. He thought it a very good
+joke. Baron Arnim had been the special envoy of Germany to China,
+accredited to the court of the Eastern potentate with the special
+mission of formulating a new and secret treaty between these monarchs.
+He was now returning home carrying a copy of this document in his
+baggage.
+
+Burnett had laughed. It _was_ a good joke.
+
+"You'd better send me out again," Burnett had said, hopelessly.
+"Anything from Arakan to Zanzibar will do for me."
+
+Crabb listened to the story with renewed marks of appreciation.
+
+"So you've been out and doing in the world, after all?" he said,
+languidly, "while we--_eheu jam satis!_--have glutted ourselves with the
+stale and unprofitable. How I envy you!"
+
+Burnett smoked silently. It was very easy to envy from the comfortable
+vantage ground of a hundred and fifty thousand a year.
+
+"Why, man, if you knew how sick of it all I am," sighed Crabb, "you'd
+thank your stars for the lucky dispensation that took you out of it.
+Rasselas was right. I've been pursuing the phantoms of hope for
+thirty years, and I'm still hopeless. There have been a few bright
+spots"--Crabb smiled at his cigar ash--"a very few, and far between."
+
+"Bored as ever, Crabb?"
+
+"Immitigably. To live in the thick of things and see nothing but the
+pale drabs and grays. No red anywhere. Oh, for a passion that would
+burn and sear--love, hate, fear! I'm forever courting them all. And here
+I am still cool, colorless and unscarred. Only once"--his gray eyes lit
+up marvelously--"only once did I learn the true relation of life to
+death, Burnett; only once. That was when the _Blue Wing_ struggled six
+days in a hurricane with Hatteras under her lee. It was glorious. They
+may talk of love and hate as they will; fear, I tell you, is the Titan
+of passions."
+
+Burnett was surprised at this unmasking.
+
+"You should try big game," he said, carelessly.
+
+"I have," said the other; "both beasts and men--and here I am in
+flannels and a red tie! I've skinned the one and been skinned by the
+other--to what end?"
+
+"You've bought experience."
+
+"Cheap at any cost. You can't buy fear. Love comes in varieties at the
+market values. Hate can be bought for a song; but fear, genuine and
+amazing, is priceless--a gem which only opportunity can provide; and
+how seldom opportunity knocks at any man's door!"
+
+"Crabb the original--the esoteric!"
+
+"Yes. The same. The very same. And you, how different! How sober and
+rounded!"
+
+There was a silence, contemplative, retrospective on both their parts.
+Crabb broke it.
+
+"Tell me, old man," he said, "about your position. Isn't there any
+chance?"
+
+Burnett smiled a little bitterly.
+
+"I'm a consular clerk at twelve hundred a year during good behavior.
+When I've said that, I've said it all."
+
+"But your future?"
+
+"I'm not in line of promotion."
+
+"Impossible! Politics?"
+
+"Exactly. I've no pull to speak of."
+
+"But your service?"
+
+"I've been paid for that."
+
+"Isn't there any other way?"
+
+"Oh, yes," Burnett laughed, "that treaty. I happened to know something
+about it when I was out there. It has to do with neutrality, trade
+ports and coaling stations; but just what, the devil only knows, and his
+deputy, Baron Arnim, won't tell. Arnim is now in Washington, ostensibly
+sight-seeing, but really to confer with Von Schlichter, the ambassador
+there, about it. You see, we've got rather more closely into the Eastern
+question than we really like, and a knowledge of Germany's attitude is
+immensely important to us."
+
+"Pray go on," drawled Crabb.
+
+"That's all there is. The rest was a joke. Crowthers wants me to get the
+text of that treaty from Baron Arnim's dispatch-box."
+
+"Entertaining!" said Crabb, with clouding brow. And then, after a pause,
+with all the seriousness in the world: "And aren't you going to?"
+
+Burnett turned to look at him in surprise.
+
+"What?"
+
+"Get it. The treaty."
+
+"The treaty! From Baron Arnim! You don't know much of diplomacy,
+Crabb."
+
+"You misunderstood me," he said, coolly; and then, with lowered voice:
+
+"Not from Baron Arnim--from Baron Arnim's dispatch-box."
+
+Burnett looked at his acquaintance in a maze. Crabb had been thought a
+mystery in the old days. He was an enigma now.
+
+"Surely you're jesting."
+
+"Why? It oughtn't to be difficult."
+
+Burnett looked fearfully around the room at their distant neighbors.
+"But it's burglary. Worse than that. If I, in my connection with the
+State Department, were discovered tampering with the papers of a foreign
+government, it would lead to endless complications and, perhaps, the
+disruption of diplomatic relations. Such a thing is impossible. Its very
+impossibility was the one thing which prompted Crowthers' suggestion.
+Can't you understand that?"
+
+Crabb was stroking his chin and contemplating his well-shaped boot.
+
+"Admit that it's impossible," he said calmly. "Do you think, if by some
+chance you were enabled to give the Secretary of State this information,
+you'd better your condition?"
+
+"What is the use, Crabb?" began Burnett.
+
+"It can't do any harm to answer me."
+
+"Well--yes, I suppose so. If we weren't plunged immediately into war
+with Emperor William."
+
+"Oh!" Crabb was deep in thought. It was several moments before he went
+on, and then, as though dismissing the subject.
+
+"What are your plans, Ross? Have you a week to spare? How about a cruise
+on the _Blue Wing_? There's a lot I know that you don't, and a lot you
+know that I'd like to. I'll take you up to Washington whenever you're
+bored. What do you say?"
+
+Ross Burnett accepted with alacrity. He remembered the _Blue Wing_,
+Jepson and Valentin's dinners. He had longed for them many times when he
+was eating spaghetti at Gabri's little restaurant in Genoa.
+
+When they parted it was with a consciousness on the part of Burnett
+that the affair of Baron Arnim had not been dismissed. The very thought
+had been madness. Was it only a little pleasantry of Crabb's? If not,
+what wild plan had entered his head? It was unlike the Mortimer Crabb he
+remembered.
+
+And yet there had been a deeper current flowing below his placid surface
+that gave a suggestion of desperate intent which nothing could explain
+away. And how illimitable were the possibilities if some plan could be
+devised by which the information could be obtained without resort
+to violent measures! It meant for him at least a post at the helm
+somewhere, or, perhaps, a secretaryship on one of the big commissions.
+
+The idea of burglary, flagrant and nefarious, he dismissed at a
+thought. Would there not be some way--an unguarded moment--a faithless
+servant--to give the thing the aspect of possible achievement? As he
+dressed he found himself thinking of the matter with more seriousness
+than it deserved.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+
+A week had passed since the two friends had met, and the _Blue Wing_ now
+lay in the Potomac near the Seventh Street wharf. It was night and the
+men had dined.
+
+Valentin's dinners were a distinct achievement. They were of the kind
+which made conclusive the assumption of an especial heaven for cooks.
+After coffee and over a cigar, which made all things complete, Mortimer
+Crabb chose his psychological moment.
+
+"Burnett," he said, "you must see that treaty and copy it."
+
+Burnett looked at him squarely. Crabb's glance never wavered.
+
+"So you _did_ mean it?" said Burnett.
+
+"Every word. You must have it. I'm going to help."
+
+"It's hopeless."
+
+"Perhaps. But the game is worth the candle."
+
+"A bribe to a servant?"
+
+"Leave that to me. Come, come, Ross, it's the chance of your life.
+Arnim, Von Schlichter and all the rest of them dine at the British
+embassy to-night. There's to be a ball afterward. They won't be back
+until late. We must get into Arnim's rooms at the German embassy. Those
+rooms are in the rear of the house. There's a rain spout and a back
+building. You can climb?"
+
+"To-night?" Burnett gasped. "You found out these things to-day?"
+
+"Since I left you. I saw Denton Thorpe at the British embassy."
+
+"And you were so sure I'd agree! Don't you think, old man----"
+
+"Hang it all, Burnett! I'm not easily deceived. You're down on your
+luck; that's plain. But you're not beaten. Any man who can buck the
+market down to his last thousand the way you did doesn't lack sand.
+The end isn't an ignoble one. You'll be doing the Administration a
+service--and yourself. Why, how can you pause?"
+
+Burnett looked around at the familiar fittings of the saloon, at the
+Braun prints let into the woodwork, at the flying teal set in the
+azure above the wainscoting, at his immaculate host and at his own
+conventional black. Was this to be indeed a setting for Machiavellian
+conspiracy?
+
+Crabb got up from the table and opened the doors of a large locker under
+the companion. Burnett watched him curiously.
+
+Garment after garment he pulled out upon the deck under the glare of the
+cabin lamp; shoes, hats and caps, overcoats and clothing of all sizes
+and shapes from the braided gray of the coster to the velvet and sash of
+the Niēois.
+
+He selected a soft hat and a cap and two long, tattered coats of ancient
+cut and style and threw them over the back of a chair. Then he went to
+his stateroom and brought out a large square box of tin and placed it
+on the table.
+
+He first wrapped a handkerchief around his neck, then seated himself
+deliberately before the box, opened the lid and took out a tray filled
+with make-up sticks. These he put aside while he drew forth from the
+deeper recesses mustachios, whiskers and beards of all shapes and
+complexions. He worked rapidly and silently, watching his changing image
+in the little mirror set in the box lid.
+
+Burnett, fascinated, followed his skillful fingers as they moved back
+and forth, lining here, shading there, not as the actor does for an
+effect by the calcium, but carefully, delicately, with the skill of the
+art anatomist who knows the bone structure of the face and the pull of
+the aging muscles.
+
+In twenty minutes Mortimer Crabb had aged as many years, and now bore
+the phiz of a shaggy rum-sot. The long coat, soft hat and rough bandanna
+completed the character. The fever of the adventure had mounted in
+Burnett's veins. He sprang to his feet with a reckless gesture of final
+resolution.
+
+"Give me my part!" he exclaimed. "I'll play it!"
+
+The aged intemperate smiled approval. "Good lad!" he said. "I thought
+you'd be game. If you hadn't been I was going alone. It's lucky you're
+clean shaved. Come and be transfigured."
+
+And as he rapidly worked on Burnett's face he completed the details of
+his plan. Like a good general, Crabb disposed his plans for failure as
+well as for success.
+
+They would wear their disguises over their evening clothes. Then, if the
+worst came, vaseline and a wipe of the bandannas would quickly remove
+all guilty signs from their faces, they could discard their tatters, and
+resume the garb of convention.
+
+Ross Burnett at last rose swarthy and darkly mustached, lacking only the
+rings in his ears to be old Gabri himself. He was fully awakened to the
+possibilities of the adventure. Whatever misgivings he had had were
+speedily dissipated by the blithe optimism of his companion.
+
+Crabb reached over for the brandy decanter.
+
+"One drink," he said, "and we must be off."
+
+The night was thick. A mist which had been gathering since sunset now
+turned to a soft drizzle of rain. Crabb, hands in pockets and shoulders
+bent, walked with a rapid and shambling gait up the street.
+
+"We can't risk the cars or a cab in this," muttered Crabb. "We might do
+it, but it's not worth the risk. Can you walk? It's not over three
+miles."
+
+It was after one o'clock before they reached Highland Terrace. Without
+stopping they examined the German embassy at long range from the distant
+side of Massachusetts Avenue. A gas lamp sputtered dimly under the
+_porte-cochčre_. Another light gleamed far up in the slanting roof.
+Crabb led the way around and into the alley in the rear. It was long,
+badly lighted and ran the entire length of the block.
+
+"I got the details in the city plot-book from a real-estate man this
+afternoon. He thinks I'm going to buy next door. I wanted to be
+particular about the alleys and back entrances." Crabb chuckled.
+
+Burnett looked along the backs of the row of N Street houses. They were
+all as stolid as sphinxes. Several lights at wide intervals burned
+dimly. The night was chill for the season, and all the windows were
+down. The occasion was propitious. The rear of the embassy was dark,
+except for a dim glow in a window on the second floor.
+
+"That should be Arnim's room," said Crabb.
+
+He tried the back gate. It was unlocked. Noiselessly they entered,
+closing it after them. There was a rain spout, which Crabb eyed
+hopefully; but they found better luck in the shape of a thirty-foot
+ladder along the fence.
+
+"A positive invitation," whispered Crabb, joyfully. "Here, Ross; in the
+shadow. Once on the back building the deed is done. Quiet, now. You hold
+it and I'll go up."
+
+Burnett did not falter. But his hands were cold, and he was trembling
+from top to toe with excitement. He could not but admire Crabb's
+composure as he went firmly up the rungs.
+
+He saw him reach the roof and draw himself over the coping, and in a
+moment Burnett, less noiselessly but safely, had joined his fellow
+criminal by the window. There they waited a moment, listening. A cab
+clattered down Fifteenth Street, and the gongs on the car line clanged
+in reply, but that was all.
+
+Crabb stealthily arose and peered into the lighted window. It was a
+study. The light came from a lamp with a green shade. Under its glow
+upon the desk were maps and documents in profusion. And in the corner he
+could make out the lines of an iron-bound chest or box. They had made no
+mistake. Unless in the possession of Von Schlichter it was here that
+the Chinese treaty would be found.
+
+"All right," whispered Crabb. "An old-fashioned padlock, too."
+
+Crabb tried the window. It was locked. He took something from one of the
+pockets of his coat and reached up to the middle of the sash. There was
+a sound like the quick shearing of linen which sent the blood back to
+Burnett's heart. In the still night it seemed to come back manifold
+from the wings of the buildings opposite. They paused again. A slight
+crackling of broken glass, and Crabb's long fingers reached through the
+hole and turned the catch. In a moment they were in the room.
+
+The intangible and Quixotic had become a latter-day reality. Burnett's
+spirits rose. He did not lack courage, and here was a situation which
+spurred him to the utmost.
+
+Instinctively he closed the inside shutters behind him. From the alley
+the pair would not have presented an appearance which accorded with the
+quiet splendor of the room. He found himself peering around, his ears
+straining for the slightest sound.
+
+A glance revealed the dispatch-box, heavy, squat and phlegmatic, like
+its owner. Crabb had tiptoed over to the door of the adjoining room.
+Burnett saw the eyes dilate and the warning finger to his lips.
+
+From the inner apartment, slowly and regularly, came the sound of heavy
+breathing. There, in a broad armchair by the foot of the bed, sprawled
+the baron's valet, in stertorous sleep. His mouth was wide open, his
+limbs relaxed. He had heard nothing.
+
+"Quick," whispered Crabb; "your bandanna around his legs."
+
+Burnett surprised himself by the rapidity and intelligence of his
+collaboration. A handkerchief was slipped into the man's mouth, and
+before his eyes were fairly opened he was gagged and bound hand and foot
+by the cord from the baron's own dressing gown.
+
+From a pocket Crabb had produced a revolver, which he flourished
+significantly under the nose of the terrified man, who recoiled before
+the dark look which accompanied it.
+
+Crabb seemed to have planned exactly what to do. He took a bath towel
+and tied it over the man's ears and under his chin. From the bed he took
+the baron's sheets and blankets, enswathing the unfortunate servant
+until nothing but the tip of his nose was visible. A rope of suspenders
+and cravats completed the job.
+
+The Baron Arnim's valet, to all the purposes of usefulness in life, was
+a bundled mummy.
+
+"Phew!" said Crabb, when it was done. "Poor devil! But it can't be
+helped. He mustn't see or know. And now for it."
+
+Crabb produced a bunch of skeleton keys and an electric bull's-eye. He
+tried the keys rapidly. In a moment the dispatch-box was opened and its
+contents exposed to view.
+
+"Carefully now," whispered Crabb. "What should it look like?"
+
+"A foolscap-shaped thing in silk covers with dangling cords," said Ross.
+"There, under your hand."
+
+In a moment they had it out and between them on the desk. There it was,
+in all truth, written in two columns, Chinese on the one side, French on
+the other.
+
+"Are you sure?" said Crabb.
+
+"Sure! Sure as I'm a thief in the night!"
+
+"Then sit and write, man. Write as you never wrote before. I'll listen
+and watch Rameses the Second."
+
+In the twenty minutes during which Burnett fearfully wrote, Crabb stood
+listening at the doors and windows for sounds of servants or approaching
+carriages. The man swaddled in the sheets made a few futile struggles
+and then subsided. Burnett's eyes gleamed. Other eyes than his would
+gleam at what he saw and wrote. When he finished he closed the document,
+removed all traces of his work, replaced it in the iron box and shut the
+lid. He dropped the precious sheets into an inner pocket and was moving
+toward the window when Crabb seized him by the arm. There was a step in
+the hallway without, and the door opened. There, stout and grizzled, his
+walrus mustache bristling with surprise, in all the distinction of gold
+lace and orders, stood Baron Arnim.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+
+For a moment there was no sound. The burglars looked at the Baron and
+the Baron looked at the burglars, mouths and eyes open alike. Then, even
+before Crabb could display his intimidating revolver, the German had
+disappeared through the door screaming at the top of his lungs.
+
+"Quick! Out of the window!" said Crabb, helping Burnett over the sill.
+"Down you go--I'll follow. Don't fall. If you miss your footing, we're
+ruined."
+
+Burnett scrambled out, over the coping and down the ladder, Crabb almost
+on his fingers. But they reached the yard in safety and were out in the
+alley running in the shadow of the fence before a venturesome head stuck
+forth from the open window and a revolver blazed into the vacant air.
+
+"The devil!" said Crabb. "They'll have every copper in the city on us
+in a minute. This way." He turned into a narrow alley at right angles to
+the other. "Off with the coat as you go--now, the mustache and grease
+paint. Take your time. Into this sewer with the coats. So!"
+
+Two gentlemen in light topcoats, one in a cap, the other in a hat,
+walked up N street arm in arm, thickly singing. Their shirt fronts and
+hair were rumpled, their legs were not too steady, and they clung
+affectionately to each other for support and sang thickly.
+
+A window flew up and a tousled head appeared.
+
+"Hey!" yelled a voice. "Burglars in the alley!"
+
+"Burglars!" said one of the singers; and then: "Go to bed. You're
+drunk."
+
+More sounds of windows, the blowing of night whistles and hurrying feet.
+
+Still the revelers sang on.
+
+A stout policeman, clamorous and bellicose, broke in.
+
+"Did you see 'em? Did you see 'em?" he cried, glaring into their faces.
+Bleary eyes returned his look.
+
+"W-who?" said the voices in unison.
+
+"Burglars," roared the copper. "If I wasn't busy I'd run ye in." And he
+was off at full speed on his vagrant mission.
+
+"Lucky you're busy, old chap," muttered Crabb to the departing figure.
+"Do sober up a little, Ross, or we'll never get away. And don't jostle
+me so, for I clank like a bellwether."
+
+Slowly the pair made their way to Thomas Circle and Vermont Avenue,
+where the sounds of commotion were lost in the noises of the night.
+
+At L Street Burnett straightened up. "Lord!" he gasped. "But that was
+close."
+
+"Not as close as it looked," said Crabb, coolly. "A white shirt-front
+does wonders with a copper. It was better than a knock on the head and a
+run for it. In the meanwhile, Ross, for the love of Heaven, help me
+with some of the bric-ą-brac." And with that he handed Burnett a gold
+pin tray, a silver box and a watch fob.
+
+Burnett soberly examined the spoils. "I only wish we could have done
+without that."
+
+"And had Arnim know what we were driving for? Never, Ross. I'll pawn
+them in New York for as little as I can and send von Schlichter the
+tickets. Won't that do?"
+
+"I suppose it must," said Burnett, dubiously.
+
+By three o'clock they were on the _Blue Wing_ again, Burnett with
+mingled feelings of doubt and satisfaction, Crabb afire with the
+achievement.
+
+"Rasselas was a fool, Ross, a malcontent--a _fainéant_. Life is amazing,
+bewitching, consummate." And then, gayly: "Here's a health, boy--a long
+life to the new ambassador to the Court of St. James!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+But Ross did not go to the Court of St. James. In the following winter,
+to the surprise of many, the President gave him a special mission to
+prepare a trade treaty with Peru. Baron Arnim, in due course, recovered
+his bric-ą-brac. Meanwhile Emperor William, mystified at the amazing
+sagacity of the Secretary of State in the Eastern question, continues
+the building of a mighty navy in the fear that one day the upstart
+nation across the ocean will bring the questions complicating them to
+an issue.
+
+But life was no longer amusing, bewitching or consummate to Crabb. The
+flavor of an adventure gone from his mouth, the commonplace became more
+flat and tasteless than before. Life was all pale drabs and grays again.
+To make matters worse he had been obliged to make a business visit in
+Philadelphia, and this filled the cup of insipidity to the brim. He was
+almost ready to wish that his benighted forbears had never owned the
+coal mines in Pennsylvania to which he had fallen heir, for it seemed
+there were many matters to be settled, contracts to be signed and
+leases to be drawn by his attorney in the sleepy city, and it would be
+several days, he discovered, before he could get off to Newport. Not
+even the _Blue Wing_ was at his disposal, for an accident in the engine
+room had laid her out of commission for two weeks at least.
+
+So he resigned himself to the inevitable, and took a room at a hotel,
+grimly determined to see the matter through, conscious meanwhile of a
+fervid hope that the unusual might happen--the lightning might strike.
+Hate he had known and fear, but love had so far eluded him. Why, he did
+not know, save that he had never been willing to perceive that emotion
+when offered in conventional forms--and since no other forms were
+possible, he had simply ceased to consider the matter. Yet marry some
+day, he must, of course. But whom? Little he dreamed how soon he would
+know. Little did Miss Patricia Wharton think that she had anything to
+do with it. In fact, Patricia's thoughts at that time were far from
+matrimony. Patricia was bored. For a month while Wharton pčre boiled out
+his gout at the sulphur springs, Patricia had dutifully sat and rocked,
+tapping a small foot impatiently, looking hourly less a monument of
+Patience and smiling not at all.
+
+At last they were in Philadelphia. Wilson had opened two rooms at the
+house and a speedy termination of David Wharton's business would have
+seen them soon at Bar Harbor. But something went wrong at the office in
+Chestnut Street, and Patricia, once a lamb and now a sheep of sacrifice,
+found herself at this particular moment doomed to another weary week of
+waiting.
+
+To make matters worse not a girl Patricia knew was in town, or if there
+were any the telephone refused to discover them. Her aunt's place was at
+Haverford, but she knew that an invitation to dinner there meant aged
+Quaker cousins and that kind of creaky informality which shows a need
+of oil at the joints. That lubricant Patricia had no intention of
+supplying. She had rather be bored alone than bored in company. She
+found herself sighing for Bar Harbor as she had never sighed before. She
+pictured the cottage, cool and gray among the rocks, the blue bowl of
+the sea with its rim just at her window-ledge, the clamoring surf, and
+the briny smell with its faint suggestion of things cool and curious
+which came up newly breathed from the heart of the deep. She could hear
+"Country Girl" whinnying impatience from the stable when Jack Masters on
+"Kentucky" rode down from "The Pinnacle" to inquire.
+
+Indeed, as she walked out into the Square in the afternoon she found
+herself relapsing into a minute and somewhat sordid introspection. It
+was the weather, perhaps. Surely the dog-days had settled upon the
+sleepy city in earnest. No breath stirred the famishing trees, the smell
+of hot asphalt was in the air, locusts buzzed vigorously everywhere,
+trolley bells clanged out of tune, and the sun was leaving a blood-hot
+trail across the sky in angry augury for the morrow.
+
+Patricia sank upon a bench, and poked viciously at the walk with her
+parasol. She experienced a certain grim satisfaction in being more than
+usually alone. Poor Patricia! who at the crooking of a finger, could
+have summoned to her side any one of five estimable scions of stupid,
+distinguished families. Only something new, something difficult and
+extraordinary would lift her from the hopeless slough of despond into
+which she had found herself precipitated.
+
+Andromeda awaiting Perseus on a bench in Rittenhouse Square! She smiled
+widely and unrestrainedly up and precisely into the face of Mr. Mortimer
+Crabb.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+
+A pleasant face it was, upon which, to her surprise, a smile very
+suddenly grew into being as though in response to her own. Patricia's
+eyes dropped quickly--sedately, as became those of a decorous woman, and
+yet in that brief second in which the eyes of the tall young man met
+hers, she had noticed that they were gray, as though sun-bleached, but
+very clear and sparkling. And when she raised her own to look quite
+through and beyond the opposite bench, her conscience refused to deny
+that she had enjoyed the looking. Were the eyes smiling _at_, or
+_with_ her? In that distinction lay a question in morals. Was their
+sparkle quizzical or intrusive? She would have vowed that good humor,
+benevolence (if benevolence may be found in the eyes of two and thirty),
+and a certain polite interest were its actual ingredients. It was all
+very interesting. She surprised herself in a not unlively curiosity as
+to his life and calling, and in a lack of any sort of misgiving at the
+_contretemps_.
+
+The shadows beneath the wilted trees grew deeper. The sun swept down
+into the west and suddenly vanished with all his train of gold and
+purple. Patricia stole a furtive look at her neighbor. Triumphantly she
+confirmed her diagnosis. The man was lost in the glow of the sunset.
+Importunity and he were miles asunder.
+
+It may have been that Patricia's eyes were more potent than the sunset,
+or that her triumphant deduction was based upon a false premise, or that
+the young man had been watching her all the while from the tail of his
+benevolent eye; for without the slightest warning, his head turned
+suddenly to find the eyes of the unfortunate Patricia again fixed upon
+his. However quickly she might turn aside, the glance exchanged was
+long enough to disclose the fact that the sparkle was still there and
+to excite a suspicion that it had never been dispelled. Nor did the
+character of the smile reassure her. She was not at all certain now that
+he was not smiling both _with_ and _at_ her.
+
+The quickly averted head, the toss of the chin, seemed all too
+inadequate to the situation; yet she availed herself of those bulwarks
+of maiden modesty in virtuous effort to refute the unconscious testimony
+of her unlucky eyes. Instinct suggested immediate flight. But Patricia
+moved not. Here indeed was a case where flight meant confession. She
+felt rather than saw his gaze search her from head to foot, and struggle
+as she might against it, the warm color raced to her cheek and brow. If
+she had enjoyed the situation a moment before, the impertinence, so
+suddenly born, filled her with dismay. By some subtle feminine process
+of reasoning, she succeeded in eliminating her share in the trifling
+adventure and now saw only the sin of the offending male. At last she
+arose, the very presentment of injured and scornful dignity and walked,
+looking neither to the left hand nor to the right.
+
+There was a sound of firm, rapid footsteps and then a deep voice at her
+elbow.
+
+"I beg pardon," it was saying.
+
+The lifted straw hat, the inclined head, the mellow tones, the gray eyes
+(again benevolent), however unalarming in themselves, filled her with
+very real inquietude. Whatever he had done before, this, surely, was
+insupportable. She was about to turn away when her eye fell upon his
+extended arm and upon her luckless parasol.
+
+"I beg pardon," he repeated, "but isn't this yours?"
+
+[Illustration: "'I beg pardon,' he repeated, 'but isn't this yours?'"]
+
+The blood flew to her face again and it was with an embarrassment, a
+_gaucherie_, the like of which she could not remember, that she extended
+her hand toward the errant sunshade. No sound came from her lips; with
+bent head she took it from him. But as she walked on, she found that he
+was walking, too--with her, directly at her side. For a moment she
+was cold with terror.
+
+"I hope you'll let me go along," he was saying coolly, "I'm really quite
+harmless. If you knew--if you only knew how dreadfully bored I've been,
+you really wouldn't mind me at all."
+
+Patricia stole a hurried glance at him, her fears curiously diminished.
+
+"I'm what the fallen call a victim of circumstances," he went on. "I ask
+no worse fate for my dearest enemy than to be consigned without a friend
+to this wilderness of whitened stoops and boarded doors--to wait upon
+your city's demigod, Procrastination. This I've done for forty-eight
+hours with a dear memory of a past but without a hope for the future.
+If the Fountain of Youth were to gush hopefully from the office
+water-cooler of my aged lawyer, he would eye it askance and sigh for
+the lees of the turbid Schuylkill."
+
+However she strove to lift her brows, Patricia was smiling now in spite
+of herself.
+
+"I've followed the meandering tide down the narrow cańon you call
+Chestnut Street, watched the leisurely coal wagon and its attendant
+tail of trolleys, or sat in my hotel striving to dust aside the
+accumulating cobwebs, one small unquiet molecule of disconsolation.
+I'm stranded--marooned. By comparison, Crusoe was gregarious."
+
+During this while they were walking north. All the way to Chestnut
+Street, Patricia was wondering whether to be most alarmed or amused. Of
+one thing she was assured, she was bored no longer. A sense of the
+violence done to her traditions hung like a millstone around her neck;
+and yet Patricia found herself peeping avidly through the hole to listen
+to the seductive voice of unconvention.
+
+When Patricia succeeded in summoning her voice, she was not quite sure
+that it was her own.
+
+"You're an impertinent person," she found herself saying.
+
+"Can't you forgive?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Circumstances are against me," he said, "but I give you my word, I've a
+place in my own city, a friend or two, and a certain proclivity for
+virtue."
+
+"Even if you do--speak to strange----"
+
+"But I don't. It was the blessed parasol. Otherwise I shouldn't have
+dared."
+
+"And the proclivity for virtue----"
+
+"Why, that's exactly the reason. Can't you see? It was you! You fairly
+exuded gentility. Come now, I'm humility itself. I've sinned. How can I
+expiate?"
+
+"By letting me go home to dinner."
+
+Patricia was laughing this time. The man was looking at his watch.
+
+"What a brute I am!" He stopped, took off his hat and turned away. And
+here it was that some little frivolous genius put unmeditated words upon
+Patricia's tongue.
+
+"I'm not so dreadfully hungry," she said.
+
+After all, he had been impertinent so very courteously.
+
+In a moment he was at her side again.
+
+"That was kind of you. Perhaps you've forgiven me."
+
+"N--no," with rising inflection.
+
+"Come now! Let's be friends, just for this little while. Let's begin at
+once to believe we've known each other always--just for to-night. I will
+be getting out of town to-morrow and we won't meet again. I'm certain of
+that."
+
+"How can I be sure?" Patricia spoke as though thinking aloud.
+
+"They've promised me this time. I'll go away to-morrow. If my papers
+aren't ready I'll leave without them."
+
+"Will you give me your word?"
+
+"Upon my honor."
+
+Patricia turned for the first time and looked directly up at him. What
+value could she set upon the honor of one she knew not? Whatever the
+feminine process of examination, she seemed satisfied.
+
+"What can I do? It's almost dusk."
+
+"I was about to suggest--er--I thought perhaps you might be willing
+to--er--go and have a bite--to eat--in fact, dinner."
+
+Patricia stopped and looked up at him in startled abstraction. The word
+and its train of associated ideas evolved in significant fashion from her
+mental topsy-turvy. Dinner! With a strange man in a public place! The
+prosaic word took new and curious meanings unwritten upon the lexicon of
+her code. There was the tangible presentation of her sin--that she might
+read and run while there was yet time. How had it all happened? What had
+this insolent person said to make it possible for her to forget herself
+for so long?
+
+With no word of explanation her small feet went hurrying down the hill
+while his big ones strode protestingly alongside.
+
+"Well?" he said at last.
+
+But she gave him no answer and only walked the faster.
+
+"You're going?"
+
+"Home--at once." She spoke with cold incisiveness.
+
+He walked along a few moments in silence--then said assertively:
+
+"You're afraid."
+
+For reply she only shook her head.
+
+"It's true," he went on. "You're afraid. A moment ago, you were willing
+to forget we had just met. Now in a breath you're willing to forget that
+we've met at all."
+
+But she would not answer.
+
+He glanced at the poise of the haughty head just below his own. Was it
+mock virtue? He felt thoroughly justified in believing it so.
+
+They had reached a corner. Patricia stopped.
+
+"You'll let me go here, won't you? You'll not follow me or try to find
+out anything, will you? Say you won't, please, please! It has all been
+a dreadful mistake--how dreadful I didn't know until--until just now. I
+must go--alone, you understand--alone----"
+
+"But it is getting dark, you----"
+
+"No, no! It doesn't matter. I'm not afraid. How can I be--now? Please
+let me go--alone. Good-by!"
+
+And in a moment she had vanished in the cross street.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+
+Mortimer Crabb watched the retreating figure.
+
+"H-m," he said, "the Eternal Question--as usual--without the answer. And
+yet I would have sworn that that parasol in the Square----"
+
+He had always possessed an attitude of amused and tolerant patronage for
+the City of Brotherly Love--it was the birthright of any typical New
+Yorker--and yet since that inconsiderable adventure in Rittenhouse
+Square, he had discovered undreamed-of virtues in the Pennsylvania
+metropolis. It was a city not of apartments, but of homes--homes
+in which men lived with their families and brought up interesting
+children in the old-fashioned way--a city of conservative progress, of
+historic association, of well-guarded tradition--an American city, in
+short--which New York was not. At the Bachelors' Club he sang its
+praises, and mentioned a plan of wintering there, but was laughed at for
+his pains. Anything unusual and extraordinary was to be expected of
+Mortimer Crabb. But a winter in Philadelphia! This was too preposterous.
+
+Crabb said nothing in reply. He only smiled politely and when the _Blue
+Wing_ was put in commission went off on a cruise with no other company
+but his thoughts and Captain Jepson. Jepson under ordinary circumstances
+would have been sufficient, but now Mortimer Crabb spent much time in a
+deck chair reading in a book of poems, or idly gazing at the swirl of
+foam in the vessel's wake. Jepson wondered what he was thinking of, for
+Crabb was not a man to spend much time in dreaming, and the Captain
+would have given much that he possessed to know. He would have been
+surprised if Mortimer Crabb had told him. To tell the truth Crabb was
+thinking--of a parasol. He was wondering if after all, his judgment had
+been erring. The lady in the Square had left the parasol, it was true.
+But then all the tribe of parasols and umbrellas seemed born to the fate
+of being neglected and forgotten, and there was no reason why this
+particular specimen of the genus should be exempt from the frailties of
+its kind. As he remembered, it was a flimsy thing of green silk and
+lace, obviously a French frippery which might be readily guilty of such
+a form of naughtiness.
+
+It had long worried him to think that he might have misjudged the
+sleeping princess--as he had learned to call her--and he knew that it
+would continue to worry him until he proved the matter one way or
+another for himself. Had she really forgotten the parasol? Or had
+she--not forgotten it?
+
+The cruise ended, the summer lengthened into fall, and winter found
+Mortimer Crabb established in residence at a fashionable hotel in
+Philadelphia.
+
+Letters had come from New York to certain Philadelphia dowagers in the
+councils of the mighty, to the end that in due course Crabb accepted for
+several desirable dinners, and before he knew he found himself in the
+full swing of a social season. And so when the night of the Assembly
+came around, he found himself dining at the house of one of his sponsors
+in a party wholly given over to the magnification of three tremulous
+young female persons, who were to receive their _cachet_ and certificate
+of eligibility in attending that ancient and honorable function.
+
+It was just at the top of the steps leading to the foyer of the
+ball-room that Crabb met Patricia Wharton in the crowd, face to face.
+The encounter was unavoidable. He saw the brief question in her glance
+before she placed him, the vanishing smile, the momentary pallor, and
+then was conscious that she had gone by, her eyes looking past him, her
+brows slightly raised, her lips drawn together, the very letter of
+indifference and contempt. It was cutting advanced to the dignity of a
+fine art. Crabb felt the color rise to his temples and heard the young
+bud at his side saying:
+
+"What is it, Mr. Crabb? You look as if you'd seen the ghost of all your
+past transgressions."
+
+"_All_ of them, Miss Cheston! Oh, I hope I don't look as bad as that,"
+he laughed. "Only one--a very tiny one."
+
+"Do tell me," cried the bud.
+
+"First, let's safely run the gantlet of the lorgnons."
+
+When the party was assembled and past the grenadiers who jealously guard
+the sacred inner bulwarks, Crabb was glad to relinquish his companion to
+another, while he sought seclusion behind a bank of azaleas to watch the
+moving dancers. So she really _was_ somebody. He began, for a moment, to
+doubt the testimony of the vagrant glances and the guilty parasol. Could
+he have been mistaken? Had she really forgotten the parasol after all?
+The situation was brutal enough for her and he was quite prepared to
+respect her delicacy. What he did resent was the way in which she had
+done it. She had taken to cover angrily and stood at bay with all her
+woman's weapons sharpened. The curl of lip and narrowed eye bespoke a
+degree of disdain quite out of proportion to the offense. But he made a
+rapid resolution not to seek her or meet her eye. If his was the fault,
+it was the only reparation he could offer her.
+
+As he whirled around the room with his little bud, he caught a glimpse
+of her upon the opposite side and so maneuvered that he would come no
+nearer. When he had guided his partner to a seat, it did not take him
+long to gratify a very natural curiosity.
+
+"Will you tell me," he asked, "who--no, don't look now--the girl in the
+black spangly dress is?"
+
+"Who? Where?" asked Miss Cheston. "Patricia, you mean? Of course! Miss
+Wharton, my cousin. Haven't you met her?"
+
+"Er--no! She's good-looking."
+
+"Isn't she? And the dearest creature--but rather cold and the least bit
+prim."
+
+"Pri--Oh, really!"
+
+"Yes! We're Quakers, you know. She belongs to the older set. Perhaps
+that's why she seems a trifle cold and--er--conventional."
+
+"Convent--! Oh, yes, of course."
+
+"You know we're really quite a breezy lot, if you only know us. Some of
+this year's debs are really very dreadful."
+
+"How shocking, and Miss Wharton is not dreadful?"
+
+"Oh, dear, no. But she is awfully good fun. Come, you must meet her. Let
+me take you over."
+
+But good fortune in the person of Stephen Ventnor intervened.
+
+It was the unexpected which was to happen. Crabb was returning from the
+table with a favor. His eye ran along the line of chairs in a brief
+fruitless search. Mr. Barclay, who was leading the cotillion, caught his
+eye at this precise psychological moment.
+
+"Stranded, Crabb? Let me present you to----"
+
+He mentioned no name but was off in a moment winding in and out among
+those on the floor. Crabb followed. When he had succeeded in eluding the
+imminent dancers and had reached the other side of the room, there was
+Barclay bending over.
+
+"Awfully nice chap--stranger," he was saying, and then aloud, "Miss
+Wharton, may I present--Mr. Crabb?"
+
+It was all over in a moment. The crowded room had hidden the black dress
+and the fair hair. But it was too late. Barclay was off in a second and
+there they were looking again into each other's eyes, Patricia pale and
+cold as stone, Crabb a trifle ill at ease at the awkward situation
+which, however appearances were against him, was none of his choosing.
+
+Crabb inclined his head and extended the hand which carried his favor.
+They both glanced down, seeking in that innocent trinket a momentary
+refuge from the predicament. It was then for the first time that Crabb
+discovered the thing he was offering her--a little frivolous green silk
+parasol.
+
+She looked up at him again, her eyes blazing, but she rose to her feet
+and looked around her as though seeking some mode of escape. He fully
+expected that she would refuse to dance, and was preparing to withdraw
+as gracefully as he might when, with chin erect and eyes which looked
+and carried her spirit quite beyond him, she took the parasol and
+followed him upon the floor.
+
+But the subtlety of suggestion which seemed to possess Crabb's particular
+little comedy was to be still more amusingly developed. The figure in
+which they became a part was a pretty vari-colored whirl of flowers and
+ribbons, in which the green parasols were destined to play a part. For a
+miniature Maypole was brought and the parasols were fastened to the
+depending ribbons in accordance with their color.
+
+As the figure progressed and the dancers interwove, Crabb could not
+fail to note the recurrent intentional snub. He felt himself blameless
+in the unlucky situation, and this needless display of hostility so
+clearly expressed seemed made in very bad taste. Each time he passed
+the flaunted shoulder, the upcast chin, or curling lip, he found his
+humility to be growing less and less until as the dance neared its end
+he glowed with a very righteous ire. If she had meant to deny him
+completely, she should have chosen the opportunity when he had first
+come up. And as he passed her, he rejoiced in the discovery that she had
+inadvertently chosen the other end of the ribbon attached to the very
+parasol which he bore. When the May dance was over, Miss Wharton found
+Mr. Crabb at her side handing her the green parasol precisely as he had
+handed her that other one in the Square six months before.
+
+"I beg pardon," he was saying quizzically, "but isn't this yours?"
+
+The accent and benevolent eye were unmistakable. If there were any
+arrow in her quiver of scorn unshot, his effrontery completely disarmed
+her. If looks could have killed, Crabb must have died at once. Assured
+of the depths of his infamy, she could only murmur rather faintly:
+
+"I shall go to my seat, at once, please." Indeed, Crabb was a very
+lively corpse. He was smiling coolly down at her.
+
+"Certainly, if you wish it. Only--er--I hope you'll let me go along."
+
+How she hated him! The words uttered again with the same smiling
+effrontery seemed to be burned anew into her memory. Could she never be
+free from this inevitable man? Her seat was at the far end of the room.
+
+"I think you have done me some injustice," he said quietly, and then,
+"It has been a pleasant dance. Thank you so much."
+
+"Thank you," replied Patricia acidly, and he was gone.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+
+Miss Wharton rather crossly dismissed her weary maid, and threw herself
+into an armchair. Odious situation! Her peccadillo had found her out!
+What made the matter still worse was the ingenuous impeccability of her
+villain. On every hand she heard his praises sung. And it vexed her that
+she had been unable to contribute anything to his detriment. Of course,
+after seeing her leave the parasol it would have been stupid of him
+to--to let her forget it. In her thoughts that adventure had long since
+been condoned. It was this new _rencontre_ which had so upset her. It
+angered her to think how little delicacy he gave her credit for when he
+had asked Jack Barclay to present him. If they had met by chance, it
+would have been different. She would have been sharply civil, but not
+retrospective; and would have trusted to his sense of the situation to
+be the same. That he had assailed her helpless barriers, wrote him down
+a brute, divested him of all the garments of sensibility in which she
+had clothed him. It angered her to think that her fancy had seen fit to
+make him any other than he was. But mingled with her anger, she was
+surprised to discover disappointment, too. It was this--this person who
+shared with her the secret of her one iniquity.
+
+She pulled impatiently at her long gloves and arose with an air of
+finality. And so Miss Wharton put the importunate Mr. Crabb entirely
+from her mind; until the following Thursday night at the dinner at the
+Hollingsworths'.
+
+"Patty, dear, have you met Mr. Crabb?" Mrs. Hollingsworth was saying.
+
+Miss Wharton had, at the Assembly.
+
+Mr. Crabb politely echoed; and Patricia hated him for the nebulous smile
+which seemed to contain hidden meanings. But she rose to the occasion
+in a way which seemed to disconcert her companion--who only answered her
+rapid fire of commonplaces in monosyllables. At the table she found
+her refuge upon the other side to be an Italian from the embassy at
+Washington, whose French limped but whose English was a cripple. And so
+they minced and stuttered, Ollendorf fashion, through the oysters and
+soup, while Crabb occupied himself with the daughter of the house upon
+his other side. But at last Patty was aware that Mr. Crabb was speaking.
+
+"Miss Wharton," he began, "I fear I've been put somewhat under a cloud."
+
+"Really," she answered sweetly, "how so?"
+
+A little disconcerted but undismayed, he continued:
+
+"Because of the manner of our meeting."
+
+"Our meeting!" she said uncertainly.
+
+"At the Assembly, you know. I thought perhaps that--you thought--I'd
+asked to be presented."
+
+"Didn't you? Then, how did we happen to meet?"
+
+He could not but admire her _sang-froid_. She was smiling a non-committal
+smile at the centerpiece.
+
+"Er--I should explain. I was adrift and Barclay came to my rescue. I
+give you my word, I had no notion it was to you he was taking me. It was
+all over in a second."
+
+"Then you really didn't wish to meet me? I'm so sorry."
+
+She had turned her face slowly to his and was looking him levelly in the
+eyes. It was a challenge, not a petition. He met her thrust fairly.
+
+"My dear Miss Wharton," he smiled, "how could I know what you were
+like--er--if I'd never seen you?"
+
+This time he fairly set her weapon flying.
+
+"What I wish you to understand," he continued, steadily, "is that I
+didn't know that Barclay was taking me to you. I wish credit for a
+certain delicacy. I should not have cared to force myself upon you."
+
+"I'm sure I shouldn't have minded in the least," she said, lightly. "I'm
+not so difficult as all that."
+
+As soon as she had spoken she knew she had overshot her mark.
+
+"That's awfully good of you, you know. I'm sure you'll admit I had no
+means of knowing," he added, "how difficult you were."
+
+She flushed a little before returning to the attack.
+
+"Of course a girl wishes to know a little something about a man
+before----"
+
+"Before she permits herself to misjudge him." He smiled. "Candidly, do
+you feel in any better position to judge me now than you did before----"
+
+"Before the Assembly?" she interrupted. "I think so. You don't eat with
+your knife," laughing. "You've a respect for the napkin. People say
+you're clever. Why shouldn't I believe them?"
+
+"If this is your creed of morality, I'm respectability itself. Can you
+doubt me? Why won't you be frank? If I'm respectable why shouldn't you
+have cared to meet me?"
+
+"I'm not sure I thought very much about it. How did you know I didn't
+wish to meet you?"
+
+"How could I know you did?"
+
+She looked up at him, a new expression on her face.
+
+"I didn't," she said quietly, "I--I--abhorred the very thought of you."
+
+Crabb looked contemplatively at his truffle. "I thank you for your
+candor," he replied at last.
+
+Then after a pause, "If you'll forgive me, I'll promise not to mention
+the subject again."
+
+"And if I don't forgive you?"
+
+"You're at my mercy for this hour at least," he laughed.
+
+"I can still fly to Italy," she replied. "I could forgive you, I think,
+but for one thing."
+
+He looked the question.
+
+"This dinner. Is it to chance that I'm indebted for the--the--honor of
+your society?"
+
+Crabb's gaze had dropped to the table, but she had seen just such a
+sparkle in them once before. Nor when he looked at her had it
+disappeared.
+
+"You mean----"
+
+She continued gazing at him steadily.
+
+"You mean--did I arrange it?" he asked.
+
+Patricia bowed her head.
+
+"How could I have done so?" he urged.
+
+"Isn't Nick Hollingsworth an intimate friend of yours?"
+
+"Yes, but I fail to see----"
+
+"Will you deny it?"
+
+"I'm afraid you'll have to take me a little on faith," he pleaded. "At
+any rate you will not suffer long. I'm leaving town in a few days."
+
+"For long?" she asked politely.
+
+"For good, I think. Won't you let me come in to see you before then?"
+
+"Perhaps----"
+
+But Mrs. Hollingsworth had cast her glance down the line and drawn back
+her chair.
+
+When the men came down into the drawing room, Mr. Crabb discovered
+that Miss Wharton had carefully ensconced herself in the center of a
+perimeter of skirts, which defied disintegration and apportionment.
+There was music and afterwards a call for carriages. So Mr. Crabb saw no
+more of Miss Wharton upon that night. Nor, indeed, did Patricia see him
+again. The following day he called. She was out. Then came a note and
+some roses. Business had called him sooner than he had expected. He
+begged to assure her of his distinguished consideration; would she
+forgive him now that he was gone, accept this new impertinence and
+forget all those that had gone before?
+
+Patricia accepted the impertinence; and for many days it filled her
+little white room with seductive odors that made his last admonition
+more difficult.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+
+The months of winter passed and Crabb returned not. July found the
+Whartons again at Bar Harbor. Patricia would go out for hours in her
+canoe or her sailboat, rejoicing with bronzed cheek and hardening
+muscles in the buffets and caresses of Frenchman's Bay. It was a very
+tiny catboat that she had learned to manage herself and in which she
+would tolerate no male hand at the helm except in the stiffest blows.
+
+One quiet afternoon, early in August, she was sailing alone down toward
+Sorrento. It was one of those brilliant New England days when every
+detail of water and sky shone clear as an amethyst. Here and there
+a sail cut a sharp yellow rhomboid from the velvet woods. Patricia
+listened idly to the lapping of the tiny waves and found herself
+thinking again rather uncomfortably of the one person who had caught
+her off her guard and kept her there. If he had only stayed in
+Philadelphia one week more, she could at least have retired with drums
+beating and colors flying.
+
+A sound distracted her. She looked to leeward under the lifting sail and
+on her bow, well out in the open off Stave Island, she could make out
+the lines of an overturned canoe and two figures in the water. She
+quickly loosed the sheet and shifted her helm and bore down rapidly upon
+the unfortunates. She could see a man bearing upon one end of the canoe
+lifting the other into the air, trying to get the water out; but each
+time he did so, a bull terrier dog swam to the gunwale and overturned it
+again. She sped by to leeward and, skilfully turning her little craft
+upon its heel, came up into the wind alongside.
+
+"How do you do?" said the moistful person, smiling.
+
+The hair was streaked down into his eyes. He hardly wondered that she
+didn't recognize him.
+
+"Mr. Crabb!" she said at last, rather faintly, "how did you happen----"
+
+"It was the dog," he said cheerfully. "I thought he understood canoes."
+
+"He might have drowned you. Why, it's Jack Masters' 'Teddy,'" she cried.
+"Here, Teddy, come aboard at once, sir." She bent over the low freeboard
+and by dint of much hauling managed to get him in.
+
+In the meantime, the catboat had drifted away from the canoe. Crabb had
+at last succeeded in getting in and was now bailing with his cap.
+
+"Won't you come over?" shouted Patricia.
+
+"Oh, I'm all right," he returned. "It was the dog I was worried about."
+Then for the first time he was aware that the paddle had drifted off and
+was now floating a hundred yards away.
+
+"I'm sorry, but my paddle is adrift."
+
+So Patricia, amid much barking from the rejuvenated Teddy, came alongside
+again.
+
+There sat the bedraggled and dripping Crabb in three inches of water,
+his empty hands upon the gunwales, looking rather foolishly up at the
+blue eyes that were smiling rather whimsically down.
+
+She could not resist the temptation to banter him. Had she prayed for
+vengeance, nothing could have been sent to her sweeter than this.
+
+"You look rather--er--glum," she said.
+
+"I'm not," he replied, calmly. "I've not been so happy in months."
+
+"What on earth is there to prevent my sailing off and leaving you?" she
+laughed.
+
+"Nothing," he said. "I'm all right. I'll swim for the paddle when I'm
+rested."
+
+"Have you thought I might take that with me, too?" she asked sweetly.
+
+"All right," he laughed, trying to suppress the chattering teeth.
+"Somebody'll be along presently."
+
+"Don't be too sure. You're really very much at my mercy."
+
+"You were not always so unkind."
+
+"Mr. Crabb!" Patricia retired in confusion to the tiller. "You're
+impudent!" She hauled in her sheet and the boat gathered headway.
+
+"Please, Miss Wharton, please!" he shouted. But Patricia did not move
+from the tiller, and the catboat glided off. He watched her sail down
+and recover the paddle and then head back toward him.
+
+"Won't you forgive me and take me in?"
+
+"I suppose I must. But I'm sure I'd rather you'd drown. I'm hardly in
+the mood for coals of fire."
+
+"I am, though," he chattered, "for I'm d--deucedly c--cold."
+
+"You don't deserve it. But if you were drowned I suppose I'd be to
+blame. I wouldn't have you on my conscience again for anything."
+
+"Then please take me on your boat."
+
+"Will you behave yourself?"
+
+"I'll try."
+
+"And never again refer to--to----"
+
+"Um----"
+
+"Then please come in--out of the wet."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was toward the end of August when the southeast wind had raised a
+gray and thunderous sea, that two persons sat under the lee of a rock
+near Great Head and watched the giant breakers shatter themselves to
+foam. They sat very close together, and the little they said was drowned
+in the roar of the elements. But they did not care. They were willing
+just to sit and watch the fruitless struggles of the swollen waters.
+
+"Won't you tell me," said the girl at last, "about that dinner? Didn't
+you really ask Mrs. Hollingsworth to send you in with me?"
+
+The man looked amusedly off at the jagged horizon.
+
+"No, I really didn't," he said, and then, after a pause, with a laugh:
+"but Nick did."
+
+"Whited sepulcher!" said the girl. Another pause. This time the man
+questioned:
+
+"There is another thing--won't you tell me? About the parasol last
+summer--did you forget it, really--or--or--just leave it?"
+
+"Mortimer!" she cried, flushing furiously. "I didn't!"
+
+But he assisted her in hiding her face, smiling down benevolently the
+while.
+
+"Really? Honestly? Truly?" he said, softly.
+
+"I didn't--I didn't," she repeated.
+
+"Didn't what?" he still persevered.
+
+She looked up at him for a moment, flushed more furiously than
+before and sought refuge anew. But the muffled reply was perfectly
+distinguishable to the man.
+
+"I--I--_didn't_--forget it."
+
+But the Great Head rocks didn't hear.
+
+Thus Mortimer Crabb, having spent much of his time in making opportunities
+for other people, had at last succeeded in making one for himself.
+
+He had the pleasure of knowing, too, that he was also making one for
+Patty--not that this was Miss Wharton's first opportunity, for everyone
+knew that her rather sedate demeanor concealed a capricious coquetry
+which she could no more control than she could the music of the spheres.
+But this was going to be a different kind of opportunity, for Crabb had
+decided that not only was she going to be engaged to him, but that when
+the time came she was going to marry him.
+
+This decision reached, he spent all of his time in convincing her that
+he was the one man in the world exactly suited to her protean moods. The
+sum of his possessions had not been made known to her, and he delighted
+in planning his surprise. So that when the _Blue Wing_ appeared in the
+harbor, he invited her for a sail in her own catboat, calmly took the
+helm in spite of her protests, and before she was aware of it, had made
+a neat landing at his own gangway. Jepson poked his head over the side
+and welcomed them, grinning broadly, and, following Crabb's inviting
+gesture, Patricia went up on deck feeling very much like the lady who
+had married the Lord of Burleigh. Then Jepson gave some mysterious
+orders and before long she was reclining luxuriously in a deck chair and
+the _Blue Wing_ was breasting the surges which showed the way to the
+open sea.
+
+"'All of this,'" quoted Crabb gayly, with a fine gesture which
+comprehended the whole of the North Atlantic Ocean, "'is mine and
+thine.'"
+
+"It's very nice of you to be so rich. Why didn't you tell me?" said
+Patricia.
+
+"Because I had a certain pride in wanting you to like me for myself."
+
+"You think I would have married you for your money?"
+
+"Oh, yes," he said, promptly, "of course you would. A rich man has about
+as much chance of entering the Kingdom of Romance as the Biblical camel
+has to get through the eye of the needle."
+
+"Why is it then that I find you so very much more attractive now that
+I've found the _Blue Wing_?"
+
+"But you found _me_ first," he laughed.
+
+"Did I?" archly.
+
+"If you still doubt it, there's the parasol!"
+
+The mention of the parasol always silenced her.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+
+That was one of many cruises, and the _Blue Wing_ contributed not a
+little to the gayety of the waning days of summer at Mount Desert. It
+was the _Blue Wing_, too, that in early September brought the Wharton
+family, bag and baggage, southward to Philadelphia, where Mortimer Crabb
+lingered, hoping to exact a promise of marriage before Christmas.
+But Patricia would make no promises. She had a will of her own, her
+fiancé discovered, and had no humor to forego the independence of her
+spinsterhood for the responsibilities which awaited her. It was in this
+situation that Crabb discovered himself to be possessed of surprising
+virtues in tolerance and tact. Patricia, he knew, had many admirers. The
+woods at Bar Harbor had been, both figuratively and literally, filled
+with them, and most of them had been eligible. Jack Masters, and
+Stephen Ventnor, who lived in Philadelphia, were still warm in pursuit
+of the fair quarry, who had not yet consented to an announcement of her
+engagement to Crabb.
+
+But these men caused him little anxiety. They were both quite young and
+quite callow and stood little chance with a cosmopolitan of Crabb's
+caliber. But there was another man of whom people spoke. His name was
+Heywood Pennington, and for three years he had been off a-soldiering in
+the Philippines. It had only been a boy-and-girl affair, of course, and
+most people in Philadelphia had forgotten it, but from his well-stored
+memory Crabb recalled at least one calf-love that had later grown into a
+veritable bull-in-the-china-shop. It was not that he didn't believe
+fully that Patricia would marry him, and it wasn't that he didn't
+believe in Patricia. It was only that he knew that for the first time in
+his life, his whole happiness depended upon that least stable but most
+wonderful of creatures, the unconscious coquette. Moreover, Mortimer
+Crabb believed firmly in himself, and he also believed that, married to
+him, Patricia would be safely fulfilling her manifest destiny.
+
+But the Philippine soldier kept bobbing up into Crabb's background at
+the most inopportune moments: once when the soldier's name had been
+mentioned on the _Blue Wing_, and Patricia had sighed and turned her
+gaze to the horizon, again at a dinner at Bar Harbor, and later in
+Philadelphia, at the Club. Bit by bit Crabb had learned Heywood
+Pennington's history, from the wild college days, through his short
+business career to the tempestuous and scarcely honorable adventures
+which had led to his enlistment under a false name in the regular army
+three years ago. It was not a creditable history for a fellow of
+Pennington's antecedents, and when his name was mentioned, even the
+fellows who had known him longest, turned aside and dismissed him with a
+word.
+
+The name of the soldier never passed between the engaged couple, and so
+far as Crabb was concerned, Mr. Pennington might never have existed.
+
+Patricia lacked nothing which the most exacting fiancée might require.
+Roses and violets arrived regularly at the Wharton country place near
+Haverford, and in the afternoons Crabb himself came in a motor car,
+always cheerful, always patient, always original and amusing.
+
+To such a wooing, placid, and ardent by turns, Patty yielded inevitably,
+and at last, late in September, consented to announce the engagement.
+The news was received in her own family circle with delighted amazement,
+for Mortimer Crabb had by this time made many friends in Philadelphia,
+and Miss Wharton had refused so many offers that her people, remembering
+Pennington, had decided that their handsome relative was destined to a
+life of single blessedness. They bestirred themselves at once in a round
+of entertainments in her honor, the first of which was a lawn party and
+masque at her uncle Philip Wharton's country place, near Bryn Mawr.
+
+Philip Wharton never did things by halves, and society, back from the
+seashore and mountains, welcomed the first large entertainment which was
+to mark the beginning of the country life between seasons.
+
+The gay crowds swarmed out from the wide doorways, into the balmy night,
+liberated from the land of matter-of-fact into a domain of enchantment.
+Gayly caparisoned cavaliers, moving in the spirit of the characters they
+represented strode gallantly in the train of their ladies whose graceful
+draperies floated like film from white shoulders and caught in their
+silken meshes the shimmer of the moonbeams. Bright eyes flashed from
+slits in masks and bolder ones looked searchingly into them. All of the
+ages had assembled upon a common meeting ground; a cinquecento rubbed
+elbows with an American Indian, Joan of Arc was cajoling a Crusader, a
+nun was hazarding her hope of salvation in flirtation with the devil,
+the eyes of a Puritan maid fell before the glances of a matador. Nothing
+had been spared in costume or in setting to make the picture complete.
+The music halted a moment and then swept into the rhythm of a waltz. A
+murmur of delight and like a change in the kaleidoscope the pieces all
+converged upon the terrace.
+
+It was here that a diversion occurred. A laugh went up from a group upon
+the steps and their glances were turned in one direction. Seated upon
+the balustrade in the glow of the Chinese lanterns sat a tramp, drinking
+a glass of punch from the refreshment table close at hand. It was a
+wonderful disguise that he wore. The shirt of some dark material, was
+stained and torn, the hat, of the brown, army type, was battered out of
+shape, and many holes had been bored into the crown. The trousers had
+worn to the color of dry grass and the boots were old, patched, and
+yellow with mud and grime. In place of the conventional black mask, he
+wore a bandanna handkerchief tied around his brow, with holes for the
+eyes. The ends of the handkerchief hung to his breast and hid his
+features, but under its edges could be seen a brown ear and a patchy
+beard. As the crowd watched him he lifted his glass aloft solemnly and
+made the motions of drinking their health. There was a roar of applause.
+A whimsical arrogance in the pose of the squarely-made shoulders and the
+tilt of the head gave an additional interest to the somber figure.
+He looked like a drawing from the pages of a comic weekly, but the
+ostentation of his gesture gave him a dignity that made the resemblance
+less assured. As the people crowded around him and sought to pierce his
+disguise, he got down from his perch and strolled away into the shadows.
+When the music stopped again he was surrounded by a curious group, but
+he towered in their center grotesque, and inscrutable. To those who
+questioned him too closely he mumbled at their meddling and told them to
+be off. Then he tightened his belt and asked when supper would be ready.
+
+"Are you hungry?" someone asked. He glared at the questioner.
+
+"What kind of a tramp would I be if I wasn't hungry?" he growled, and
+those around him laughed again. So they took him to a table and fed him.
+He ate ravenously. They got him something to drink and it seemed to
+vanish down his throat without even touching his lips.
+
+"Isn't he splendid?" said Patricia Wharton, who, with Mortimer Crabb,
+had just come up. "But who----? I can't think of anyone, and yet----"
+
+The tramp looked up at her suddenly and dropped his fork upon the table.
+
+"_Splendid_," he cried. "That's me. _Splendid._ I sure glitter in this
+bunch, don't I?"
+
+There was something irresistibly comic in the gesture with which he
+swept the group.
+
+Patricia was still watching him--a puzzled expression in her eyes.
+
+"Who is he?" she asked; but Crabb shook his head. "I haven't an
+idea--but he _is_ clever. And look at those boots--they're the real
+thing. I wouldn't want to try to dance in them, though."
+
+The tramp drained his glass--set it down on the table and wiped his
+mouth on the back of his hand--rose and disappeared between the palms
+and hydrangeas into the darkness.
+
+For a guest in good standing the tramp then behaved strangely, for when
+he had reached a sheltered spot, in the bushes at the end of the English
+Garden, he sank at full length upon the grass and buried his head in his
+hands, groaning aloud. It was three years since he had seen her--three
+years, and yet she was just as he had seen her last. Time had touched her
+lightly, only caressing her playfully, rounding her features to matured
+beauty, while he---- A vision of camps, cities, skirmishes, orgies, came
+out of his mind in a disordered procession, all culminating in the
+incident which had brought him to ruin. Every detail of _that_ at least
+was clear; the sudden rage where the bonds of patience had reached the
+snapping point--and then the blow. The tramp laughed outright. He could
+see now the smirk on the face of the drunken lieutenant as he toppled
+over backward and struck his head on the edge of the mahogany table.
+After that--irons, the court martial, the transport, Alcatraz, his
+chance, the friendly plank, the swim for the mainland, and freedom. He
+had never heard whether the man lived or died. He didn't much care. He
+got what was coming to him.
+
+The tramp was a fugitive still. He had walked since morning from Malvern
+station, where he had been thrown off the freight train on which he
+had worked a ride east from Harrisburg. At Bryn Mawr he had begged a
+meal--the irony of it had sunk into his soul--at the back door of a
+country house at which he had once been a welcome guest. A gossipy
+chauffeur had let him into his garage for a rest and had given
+him a cigarette over which he had learned the recent doings in the
+neighborhood. The thought of venturing into Philip Wharton's grounds
+that night had entered his madcap brain while he lay in the woods along
+the Gulf Road, trying to make up his mind whether his tired feet would
+carry him the twelve miles that remained between him and the city.
+
+Why had he returned? God knew. His feet had dragged him onward as though
+impelled by some force beyond his power to resist. Now that he was near
+the home of his boyhood it seemed as if any other place in the world
+would have been better. It was so real--the peaceful respectability
+of this country--so like Her. And yet its very peacefulness and
+respectability angered him. Was it nothing to have hungered and
+thirsted and sweated that the honor of these people and that of others
+like them might be preserved? Even Patricia's blamelessness was
+intolerant--reproachful. The springs of memory that had gushed forth
+just now at the sight of her were dried in their source. There was a
+dull ache, a sinking of the spirit that was almost a physical pain; but
+the unreasoning fever of the wayward boy, the wrenching fury of the
+outcast soldier were lacking, and for a long time he lay where he had
+fallen without moving.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+
+Patricia Wharton stood a moment on the edge of the terrace after the
+dance, slipped her hand into Mortimer Crabb's arm and came down upon the
+path, drawing a drapery across her white shoulders.
+
+"What is it?" asked Crabb. "You are not cold?"
+
+"Oh, no," she said quietly. "I think I am a little tired."
+
+"Come," he said. "There's a beautiful spot--just here." He led her
+across the lawn and through an opening in the trees to a garden-bench in
+the shadow, a spot which none of the other maskers had discovered.
+Through the leafy screen they could see the gay figures floating like
+will-o'-the-wisps across the golden lawn, but here they were quiet and
+unobserved. Patricia sank upon the bench with a sigh, while Crabb sat
+beside her.
+
+"Are you happy?" he asked after awhile.
+
+"Perfectly," she murmured. "What a beautiful party!" She placed her hand
+in his and moved a little closer to him, then sat listlessly, her eyes
+seeking the spaces between the branches where the people were. "I don't
+want to grow old too soon," she was saying. "The whole world is in short
+clothes to-night. Wouldn't it be good to be young forever?"
+
+Crabb smiled indulgently.
+
+"Yes," he said. "It is good to be young. But isn't it anything to take
+your place in the world? I want you to know all a man can do for the
+woman he loves. Won't you let me? Soon?" He bent over her and took the
+rounded arm in his strong hand. She did not withdraw it, but something
+told him a link of sympathy was lacking in the chain. As she did not
+reply he straightened and sat moodily looking before him.
+
+"Don't think me capricious, please," she began. "You're everything I
+can hope for--and yet----"
+
+"And yet?" he repeated.
+
+She paused a moment, then broke in, "Forgive me, won't you? I don't know
+what it is. Something has affected me strangely." She leaned against the
+back of the bench, rested her head in her hand, away from him, and Crabb
+turned jealously toward her.
+
+"You were thinking--of him--of the other."
+
+"Why shouldn't I be honest with you? I can't help it. Something has
+suddenly brought him into my mind. I was wondering----"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I was wondering where he is now--to-night. It is so beautiful here.
+Everything has been done to make us happy. I was thinking that perhaps
+if I had written him a line I might have saved him some terrible trial.
+It was only a boy-and-girl affair, of course, but----"
+
+Patricia suddenly stopped speaking, and both of them turned their heads
+toward the dark bank of bushes behind them.
+
+"What was it?" she asked.
+
+"A dead branch falling," he replied.
+
+They listened again, but all they heard was the sound of the orchestra
+and the voices of the dancers.
+
+"You're teaching me a lesson in patience," Crabb began again soberly. "I
+can wait, of course. I'm not jealous of _him_," he said. "I was only
+wondering how you could think of him at all."
+
+"I don't think of him--not in _that_ way. I believe I haven't thought of
+him at all--until to-night. To-night, I can't help thinking of others
+less fortunate than ourselves. I suppose it's only the natural thing
+that he should suffer. He never seemed to get things right, somehow; his
+point of view was always askew. He was a wild boy--but he was human."
+
+She paused and clasped her hands before her. Crabb sat silent beside
+her, but his brow was clouded. When he spoke it was in a voice low and
+constrained.
+
+"Do you think it kind--wise to speak of this now?"
+
+"I was thinking that perhaps if he'd had a little luck----"
+
+"He might have come back to you?"
+
+Patricia turned toward him and with a swift movement took one of his
+hands in both of hers.
+
+"Don't speak in that way," she pleaded. "You mustn't."
+
+But his fingers still refused to respond to her pressure.
+
+"If I think of him at all, it is because I have learned how great a
+thing is love and how much the greater must be its loss. You know," she
+whispered, timidly, "you know I--I love you."
+
+"God bless you for that," he murmured.
+
+They were so absorbed that they did not hear the sound behind them--a
+suppressed moan like that of an animal in pain.
+
+"Will you forgive me?" asked the girl, at last. "It is all over now. I
+shall never speak of it again. I've spoiled your evening. You don't
+regret?"
+
+Crabb laughed happily.
+
+"I'll promise to be good," she said, softly. "I'll do whatever you ask
+me----"
+
+"Will you marry me next month?"
+
+"Yes," she murmured, "whenever you wish."
+
+He took her in his arms and kissed her. They stood for some time deaf to
+all voices but those in their hearts. There was a breaking of tiny twigs
+under the trees behind them and a drab figure came out into the open on
+the other side and vanished into the darkness by the garden wall. And as
+they walked back into the house neither guessed just what had happened
+except that some new miracle, which, really, is very old, had happened
+to them.
+
+As a matter of fact, when Patricia announced the miracle in the form
+of her engagement to Mortimer Crabb a prayer of thanksgiving went up
+from at least three young women of her acquaintance. And though these
+feminine petitioners were left as much to their own devices as before
+the announcement, there was a certain comfort in knowing that she was
+out of the way--at least, that she was as much out of the way as it was
+possible for Patricia to be, bound or untrammeled. Jack Masters went
+abroad, Steve Ventnor actually went to work, and various other swains
+sought pastures new.
+
+Ross Burnett was best man and, when the ceremony and breakfast were
+over, saw the happy couple off upon the _Blue Wing_, for their long
+Southern cruise. They offered him conduct as far as Washington, whither
+he was bound, but he knew from the look in their eyes that he was not
+wanted, and with a promise to meet them in New York when they returned,
+he waved them a good-by from the pier and took up the thread of his
+Government business where it had been dropped. It is not often that
+good comes out of villainy, and the memory of the adventure in which
+Crabb had involved him, often troubled his conscience. What if some day
+he should meet Baron Arnim or Baron Arnim's man and be recognized? At
+the State Department Crowthers had asked him no questions and he had
+thought it wise not to offer explanations. But certain it was that to
+that adventure alone was his present prosperity directly due. His South
+American mission successfully concluded, he had returned to Washington
+with the assurance that other and even more important work awaited him.
+His point of view had changed. All he had needed was initiative, and,
+Crabb having supplied that deficiency, he had learned to face the world
+again with the squared shoulders of the man who had at last found
+himself. The world was his oyster and he would open it how and when he
+liked.
+
+It was this new attitude perhaps which enabled him to take note of the
+taming of Mortimer Crabb, for when he visited the bride and groom in
+their sumptuous house in New York, he discovered that Crabb had formed
+the habit of the easy-chair after dinner, and that the married life,
+which all his days he had professed to abhor, was the life for him. It
+took the combined efforts of Burnett and Patricia to dislodge him.
+
+"He's absolutely impossible," said Patricia. "He says that he has solved
+the problem of happiness--that he has done with the world. It's so like
+a man," and she stamped her small foot, "to think that marriage is the
+end of everything when--as everyone knows--it's only the beginning. He's
+getting stout already, and I know, I'm positive that he is going to be
+bald. Won't you help me, Mr. Burnett?"
+
+"That's a dreadful prospect--Benedick, the married man. You only need
+carpet slippers and a cribbage-board, Mort, to make the picture
+complete. Have you stopped seeking opportunities?"
+
+"Ah, yes," drawled Crabb, "Patty is the only opportunity I ever had--at
+least--er--the only one worth embracing----"
+
+"Mortimer!"
+
+"And don't you ever go to the Club?" laughed Ross.
+
+"Oh, no. I'm taboo there since I lived in Philadelphia. Besides, I'm not
+a bachelor any more, you know. If Patty only wouldn't insist on dragging
+me out----"
+
+Patricia laughed.
+
+"Twice, Ross, already this winter," Crabb continued. "It's cruelty,
+nothing less." But the perpetrator of the outrage was smiling, and she
+leaned forward just then and laid her hand in that of her husband,
+saying with a laugh, "Mort, you know we'll have to get Ross married at
+once."
+
+"Me?" said Burnett, in alarm.
+
+"Of course. A bachelor only sneers at a Benedick when he has given up
+hoping----"
+
+"Oh, I say now--I'm not so old."
+
+"Then you do hope?"
+
+"Oh, no, I only wait--for a miracle."
+
+"This isn't the age of miracles," remarked Patty thoughtfully, "at least
+not miracles of that kind. How can you expect anyone to fall in love
+with you if you go on leaping from one end of the earth to the other. No
+girl wants to marry a kangaroo--even a diplomatic kangaroo." She paused
+and examined him with her head on one side. "And yet you know you're
+passably decent looking----"
+
+"Oh, thanks!"
+
+"Even distinguished--that foreign way of wearing your mustache is really
+quite fetching. You'll do, I think, with some coaching."
+
+"Will you coach me?"
+
+"I object," interrupted Crabb, lazily.
+
+"I will. You're quite worth marrying--I'm at least sure you wouldn't
+condemn your wife to her own lares and penates."
+
+"Not I. She'd get the wanderlust--or a divorce."
+
+"Don't boast, worse vagabonds than you have been tamed--come now, what
+shall she be--blonde or brunette?"
+
+Burnett shrugged his shoulders. "I'm quite indifferent--pigment is cheap
+nowadays."
+
+"Now you're scoffing."
+
+Ross Burnett leaned back in his chair and smiled at the chandelier.
+Women had long ago been omitted from his list of possibilities. But
+Patricia was not to be denied.
+
+"Married you shall be," she said with the air of an oracle, "and before
+the year is out. I swear it."
+
+"But why do you want me to----"
+
+"Revenge!" she said tragically. "You helped marry me to Mort."
+
+And the young matron was as good as her word, though her method may have
+been unusual.
+
+It came about in the following manner, and Burnett's brother and Miss
+Millicent Darrow were her unconscious agents. Miss Darrow had gone to
+the Academy Exhibit. The rooms were comfortably crowded. She entered
+conscious of a certain dignity and repose in the character of her
+surroundings. She brought forth her catalogue, resolutely opened it to
+the first page and in a moment was oblivious to the people about her.
+She did not belong to the great army "who know what they like." She had
+an instinctive perception of the good, and found herself not a little
+amazed at the amount of masterly work by younger men whose names she had
+never heard. It was an unpleasant commentary upon the mentality and
+taste of the set in which she moved, and she was conscious of a sense of
+guilt; for was she not a reflection of the shortcomings of those she was
+so ready to condemn? "The Plain--Evening--William Hazelton"--a direct
+rendering of an upland field at dusk, between portraits by well-known
+men; "Sylvia--Henry Marlow"--a girl in a green bodice painted with
+knowledge and assurance.
+
+In another room were the things in a higher key--she knew them at a
+glance; and on the opposite wall a full-length portrait that looked
+like a Sargent. She was puzzled at the color, which was different from
+that of any man she remembered. The Sargents she knew were grouped in
+another room--and yet there was here the force and breadth of the
+master. She experienced the same perplexity--"Agatha--Philip Burnett,"
+said the catalogue. She sank upon a bench before it and gave herself up
+to quiet rapture.
+
+"If I were a man," she said at last, "that is how I should wish to
+paint, the drawing of Sargent, the poetry of Whistler, the grace of
+Alexander, the color of Benson. Philip Burnett," she apostrophized,
+"I'm a Philistine. Forgive me."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+
+It was very pleasant under the subdued lights from above. She followed
+the sweep of the drapery with delighted eye, taking an almost sensuous
+pleasure in the relation of color and the grace of the arms and
+throat--the simplicity of the modeling and the admirable
+characterization.
+
+She found herself repeating:
+
+    "'And those that were good shall be happy,
+      They shall sit in a golden chair;
+    They shall splash at a ten-league canvas
+      With brushes of comet's hair.'
+
+"Philip Burnett, I wonder if you're good? You ought to be. I'd be good
+if I could paint like that. I'd work for an age at a sitting, too. How
+could one ever be tired making adagios in color? Oh!" she sighed, "how
+good it must be to amount to something!"
+
+A procession of agreeable, vacuous faces passed before the canvas,
+creatures of a common fate, garbed in the uniform of convention,
+carrying the polite weapons of Vanity Fair, each like the others and as
+uninteresting. The few who wore the bright chevrons of distinction had
+marched with the throng for a time, but had gone back to their own. She
+wondered if it would really matter if she never saw them again; of
+course, the women--but the men. Would she care?
+
+Was there not another life? It beckoned to her. What was Philip
+Burnett like? Could he be young and handsome as well as gifted? The
+vacuous faces vanished and in their place she could see this young
+genius--Antinous and Hercules combined--standing before this canvas
+living for the mere joy of work. Here was her answer. Was she to flit
+through enchanted gardens other people had planted, sipping only at the
+perfumed petals while the honey to be garnered was in plain sight?
+
+A voice broke in just beside her:
+
+"It's convincing, but I tell you, Burnett, the arm's too long."
+
+"Perhaps. Not bad, though, for a new man. You know we Burnetts are an
+exceptional race."
+
+The men moved away and the other's reply was lost in the murmur of the
+crowd. Miss Darrow turned to follow them with her eyes--what a big
+fellow he was! with an admirable profile, a straight nose, a waxed
+mustache, and a chin like the one on the mask of Brutus. Conceited, of
+course! All artists were conceited. And who was that with him--Mortimer
+Crabb? Yes, and there was the bride talking to the Pendergasts.
+
+"Why, Milly, dear!" Mrs. Pendergast passed an incurious but observant
+eye over her acquaintance. "I thought you were in Aiken. What a lovely
+hat! Are you going to the Inghams? What will you wear? Isn't it restful
+here?"
+
+Miss Darrow politely acquiesced and attempted replies, but her eyes
+strayed toward the Burnett portrait.
+
+"Stunning," continued Mrs. Pendergast. "A new man just over. Quite too
+clever. Wonderful color, isn't it? Like a ripe pomegranate."
+
+"Have you met him?"
+
+"No. He belongs to the Westchester Burnetts, though. Mrs. Hopkinson. So
+glad. Is Frederick here?"
+
+The agreeable lady had made of the portion of the galleries in the
+neighborhood of the Burnett portrait a semblance of her own busy
+drawing-room. Other acquaintances came up and Miss Darrow was soon lost
+in the maze of small talk. A broad pair of shoulders were thrust forward
+into her group, and Miss Darrow found herself looking into a pair of
+quizzical gray eyes which were beaming a rather frank admiration into
+hers. "Miss Darrow--Mr. Burnett," Patricia Crabb was saying; and
+Millicent Darrow was conscious that in a moment the new arrival had
+quietly and cleverly appropriated her and was taking her to the opposite
+side of the room where he found for her a Winslow Homer of rocks and
+stormy splendor.
+
+"Why is it," she asked, after her first enthusiasm, "that the work of
+the artist so seldom suggests its creator's personality?"
+
+"The perversity of the human animal," he laughed. "That's the system
+of justice of the great Republic of Art, Miss Darrow. If we lose a
+characteristic here, we gain it somewhere else. Rather a nice balance,
+don't you think?"
+
+"You hardly look the poet, Mr. Burnett--you don't mind my saying so?"
+she laughed. "And if you do dream, you do it with your eyes very wide
+open."
+
+Mr. Burnett's brows were tangled in bewilderment. "I'm really not much
+given to dreaming. I'm rather busy, you know."
+
+"It's splendid of you. You've worked long?"
+
+"Er--yes--since I left college," he said, the tangle in his brows
+suddenly unraveling. A smile now illuminated his rather whimsical eyes.
+Miss Darrow found herself laughing frankly into them.
+
+"Art is long--you must be at least--thirty."
+
+"Less," he corrected. "Youth is my compensation for not being a
+lawyer--or a broker."
+
+She was conscious of the personal note in their conversation, but she
+made no effort to avoid it. This genius of less than thirty gave every
+token of sanity and good fellowship.
+
+"Who is Agatha?" she asked suddenly.
+
+"A--er--a friend of mine in Paris."
+
+"Oh!" she said, in confusion.
+
+And then:
+
+"The face is of the East--the Slav--did you choose her for that
+character?"
+
+"Not at all. She was--er--just--just a sitter--a commission, you know."
+
+"How interesting!"
+
+They had made the rounds of the room and were now facing the portrait
+again.
+
+"It was lucky to have so good a model," he continued. "One doesn't
+always. Have you ever posed, Miss Darrow?"
+
+"I? No, never. Father has been trying to get me painted this winter.
+But I've been so busy--and then we're going South in two weeks--so we
+haven't been able to manage it."
+
+"What a pity!" The subtle sparkle had died in his eyes, which from the
+shadow of their heavy lashes were regarding hers intently.
+
+"You're very kind. Would you really like to paint me?" said Miss Darrow.
+"Suppose I said you should. I want my portrait done. If you make me half
+as wonderful as Agatha, I shall die happy. Won't you come in to-morrow
+at five? We can talk it over. I must be going now. No, not now,
+to-morrow. Au revoir." She gave him her hand with a friendly nod, and
+threaded her way through the crowd, leaving Burnett staring at the card
+she had left in his hand.
+
+On the way up-town in the machine Patricia examined him, smiling
+curiously.
+
+"What a delusion you are, Ross Burnett! Railing in one moment at
+matrimony and in the next, tagging around like a tame bear at the heels
+of the first pretty girl that crosses your path."
+
+"She _is_ pretty, isn't she?" he admitted, promptly.
+
+"And quite the rage--this is her third season you know. You seemed to be
+getting on very rapidly----"
+
+"Oh, it was all a mistake," Burnett laughed. "She thought I was an
+artist."
+
+"An artist? What in the world----"
+
+"I'm going to do her portrait----"
+
+"You!" Patricia leaned forward eagerly. "What do you mean?"
+
+"That I'm brother Philip--the chap that did the Agatha. She mistook me
+for him, and she was so nice about it that I didn't like to interfere."
+
+Crabb was lighting a cigarette.
+
+"I'm afraid, my dear Ross, that the East has sapped some of your moral
+fiber," he said.
+
+"It's perfectly delightful," laughed Patricia.
+
+"But Ross can't paint----"
+
+"I'd like to try," said Burnett.
+
+"Fiddlesticks!"
+
+Patricia said no more, but all the way home her face wore a smile which
+would not come off. The miracle had happened. Had she searched New York
+she could not have found a girl more eminently suited to Ross Burnett.
+That night Mortimer had some writing to do, but Patricia and her guest
+sat for a long while talking earnestly in the library. They didn't take
+Mortimer into their confidence, for Patricia had now gleefully donned
+the mantle her husband had so carelessly thrown aside. Here was an
+opportunity to make, and Patricia became the goddess in the machine.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+
+Several days passed. Ross Burnett moved about the studio adjusting a
+canvas upon an easel, bringing out draperies, raising and lowering
+curtains, and peering into drawers and chests in a manner which betrayed
+an uncertain state of mind. At last he seemed to find what he was
+looking for--a drapery of soft gray material. This he cast over the back
+of the easel, walked back from it to the far side of the room where he
+put his head on one side and looked with half-closed eyes.
+
+There was a clatter of the old French knocker. Burnett dropped his paint
+tubes and cigarette and opened the door.
+
+"Am I late?" laughed Miss Darrow.
+
+"You couldn't come too early," said Burnett. But he dubiously eyed the
+French maid who had entered bearing a huge portmanteau.
+
+"I was so afraid to keep you waiting. You're not very angry?"
+
+"I'm sure I've been here since dawn," he replied.
+
+"Then let's not waste any time. Oh, isn't it charming! Where shall I
+go?"
+
+He pushed open the door of the dressing room.
+
+"I think you'll find the mirror fair," he said. "If there's
+anything----"
+
+"How exciting! No. And I'll be out in a jiffy."
+
+When the door was closed Burnett eyed the model-throne, the draperies,
+the chair, and the canvas, seeking a last inspiration before the
+imminent moment. He put a Japanese screen behind the chair and threw a
+scarlet drapery over one end of it, knocking at the rebellious folds to
+make them fall as he wished.
+
+"Will I do?" asked the girl, radiantly emerging. She wore a black
+evening dress. The maid had thrown a filmy drapery over her which
+brought out the dull whiteness of the shoulders. "It is so different in
+the daytime," she said, coloring; "but father has always wanted it so.
+You know I haven't told him. It's to be a surprise."
+
+Burnett's color responded to hers. He bowed his head. "You are charming,"
+he murmured gallantly with a seriousness she could not fail to notice.
+
+When Julie was dismissed to return at luncheon-time, Mr. Burnett
+conducted Miss Darrow to her throne and took his place before the
+canvas. She stood leaning easily upon the back of the chair, the lines
+of her slender figure sweeping down from the radiant head and shoulders
+into the dusky shadows behind her. She watched him curiously as he stood
+away from the easel to study the pose.
+
+"If I only could--it's splendid so," he was murmuring, "but I wish you
+to sit."
+
+She acquiesced without question. "I feel like a specimen," she sighed.
+"It's a terrible ordeal. I'm all arms and hands. _Must_ you squint?"
+
+In Burnett's laugh all restraint was liberated to the winds.
+
+"Of course. All artists squint. It's like the circular sweep of the
+thumb--a symbol of the craft."
+
+He walked behind her and adjusted the screen, taking away the crimson
+drapery and putting a greyish-green one in its place.
+
+"There," he cried, "just as you are. It's stunning."
+
+She was leaning forward with an elbow on the chair arm, her hands
+clasped, one slender wrist at her chin.
+
+"Really! You're awfully easy to please--I wonder if I shall do as well
+as Agatha."
+
+He took up a charcoal--looked at its end, and made a slight adjustment
+of the easel. "Before we begin--there's one thing I forgot." He paused.
+"All painters are sensitive, you know. I'm rather queerer than most. I
+hope you won't care." The charcoal was now making rapid gyrations upon
+the surface of the canvas. "I'm awfully sensitive to criticism--in
+the early stages. I usually manage to pull out somehow--but in the
+beginning--when I'm drawing, laying in the figure--I don't like my
+canvas seen. Sometimes it lasts even longer. You won't mind not looking,
+will you?"
+
+"I see. That's what the grey thing is for. I don't mind in the least;
+only I hope it will come soon. I'm wild to see. And please smoke. I know
+you want to."
+
+The grateful Burnett drew forth his cigarette-case and while his model
+rested busied himself among his tubes of paint, squeezing the colors out
+upon the palette.
+
+"If you only knew," he sighed, "how very difficult it seems." But the
+large brush dipped into the paint and Burnett worked vigorously, a fine
+light glowing in his eyes. Miss Darrow watched the generous flow from
+the oil cup mingling with the colors.
+
+"What a lot of vermilion you use!"
+
+[Illustration: "'What a lot of vermilion you use.'"]
+
+"Hair," he replied. He seemed so absorbed that she said no more, and she
+didn't know whether to laugh or frown. Later she ventured:
+
+"If it's carroty I'll never speak to you again. Please make it auburn,
+Mr. Burnett."
+
+He only worked the more rapidly. He seemed to be dipping into every
+color upon the palette, in the center of which had grown a brown of the
+color of walnut-juice. This he was applying vigorously to the lower part
+of the canvas. When the palette was cleared he put it aside and sank
+back in a chair with a sigh.
+
+"Rest," said the artist.
+
+"I'm not in the least tired," she replied.
+
+"But _I_ am. It takes it out of me to be so interested."
+
+"Does it?" She leaned back in her chair, regarding him with a new
+curiosity. "Do you know," she added, "you are full of surprises----"
+
+She ignored the inquiry of his upraised brows.
+
+"----and paint," she finished with a laugh.
+
+He ruefully eyed a discolored thumb. "I'm awfully untidy, I know. I've
+always been. In Paris they called me Slovenly Peter."
+
+"I shouldn't say that--only----"
+
+"What?"
+
+"Only----" she indicated several streaks of black on his grey
+walking-suit. "Must one always pay such a price to inspiration?"
+
+"Jove! That _was_ stupid. I always do, though, Miss Darrow." He examined
+the spots and touched them with the tips of his fingers. "It's paint,"
+he finished, examining it with a placidity almost impersonal. "It
+doesn't matter in the least."
+
+"And do you always smudge your face?" she asked sweetly. He looked at
+himself in the mirror. There was a broad streak of red across his
+forehead. He wiped it off with a handkerchief.
+
+"Oh, please don't laugh."
+
+He sank upon the edge of the throne, and then they both laughed
+joyously, naturally, like two children.
+
+"I'm an awfully lucky fellow," he said, at last. "I feel like a feudal
+baron with a captured princess. Here are you, that most inaccessible of
+persons, the Woman of Society, doomed every morning for two weeks to
+play Darby and Joan with a man you've known only three days. How on
+earth can a fellow survive seeing a girl he likes behind cups of tea!
+It's rough, I think. Society seems to accomplish every purpose but its
+avowed one. Instead of which everybody plays puss-in-the-corner. A
+fellow might have a chance if the corners weren't so far apart. And
+I, just back from abroad with all the skeins of old friendship at a
+loose end, walk into your circle and quietly appropriate you for a
+fortnight--while your other friends go a-begging."
+
+"They haven't begged very hard," she laughed. "If they had, perhaps they
+might be playing Darby and Joan, too. I've never tried it before. But I
+think it's rather nice----" She broke off suddenly.
+
+"Do you know, I've rested _quite_ twenty minutes," she said after a
+moment. "Come, time is precious."
+
+"That depends----"
+
+She waited a moment for him to finish, but he said no more.
+
+"How extraordinary!" she said with a pretty _mouė_. "I don't know whether
+I should be pleased or not."
+
+"Can you blame me? The Forelock of Time hangs too temptingly," he
+laughed. "Of course, if you'd rather pose----" He took up his dripping
+brushes with a sigh.
+
+"Oh, indeed, I don't care," she sank back in the chair. "Only don't you
+think--isn't that really what I'm here for?"
+
+"It is time to pose, Miss Darrow," he said determinately.
+
+But she made no move to get into the position.
+
+"I haven't complained," and she smiled at him. "Your muse is difficult,
+and I'm the gainer. Really, I think I'd rather talk."
+
+"And I'm waiting to go on with the portrait."
+
+"I'll pose again on one condition----"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"That you put on overalls."
+
+The brushes and palette dropped to his side. "That's rough on Slovenly
+Peter," he laughed. He set about squeezing the paint tubes, wiping the
+brush handles and edge of the palette. When the pose was over Julie
+appeared. The artist drew the grey drapery over the easel and helped
+Miss Darrow to descend.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+
+These mornings in the studio were full of subtleties. Miss Darrow
+discovered that Burnett could talk upon many subjects. He had traveled
+much in Europe, and could even draw a bold outline for her of the East,
+which she had never seen. He talked little of art, and then only when
+the subject was introduced by his model. In the rests, which were long,
+he led Miss Darrow, often without her being aware of it, down pleasant
+lanes of thought, all of which seemed to end abruptly in the garish
+sunshine of personality. She did not find it unpleasant; only it seemed
+rather surprising the way all formality between them had been banished.
+
+One morning there was a diversion. A clatter on the knocker and Burnett,
+frowning, went to the door. Miss Darrow heard a feminine voice and an
+exclamation. Burnett went rather hurriedly and stood outside, his hand
+upon the door knob. There was a murmur of conversation and a feminine
+laugh. She tried not to hear what was said. The hand fidgeted on the
+knob, but the murmur of voices continued. Miss Darrow got down from the
+throne and moved to the window, adjusting a stray curl as she passed.
+
+She looked away from the mirror, then stopped suddenly and looked again.
+When Burnett entered she was sitting in the window-seat, looking out
+over the roof-tops. He was profuse in apology. She resumed the pose and
+the artist painted silently. "They say there's a pleasure in painting
+that only a painter knows," she began.
+
+"Of course."
+
+"Then why do we rest so often? I'm not easily deceived. The fine frenzy
+is lacking, Mr. Burnett--isn't it so?"
+
+For reply he held out his paint-smudged hands.
+
+"No--no," she went on. "You're painting timidly with the tips of your
+fingers--not in the least like the 'Agatha.' I'm sure you're doing me
+early-Victorian."
+
+Burnett stopped painting, looked at his canvas and laughed. "Oh, it's
+hardly that," he said.
+
+"Won't you prove it?"
+
+"How?"
+
+"By letting me look." She rose from her chair, got down from the throne
+and took a rapid step or two towards the easel. But Burnett's broad
+shoulders barred the way.
+
+"Please," she urged.
+
+"I can't, really."
+
+"Why not?" She stood her ground firmly, looking up into his face, but
+Burnett did not move or reply.
+
+She settled into the pose again and Burnett went mechanically to
+his place before the canvas. Once it seemed as if he were about to
+speak--but he thought better of it. He looked down at the mass of color
+mingled on the palette. His brush moved slowly on the canvas. At last
+it stopped and dropped to his side.
+
+"I can't go on."
+
+She dropped out of the pose. "Are you ill?"
+
+"Oh, no," he laughed. With the setting aside of the brushes and palette,
+Burnett seemed to put away the shadow that had been hanging over his
+thoughts all the morning. He stood beside her and was looking frankly
+into her eyes. She saw something in his that had not been there before,
+for she looked away, past the chimneys and apartment houses, past the
+clouds, and into the void that was beyond the blue. She had forgotten
+his presence, and one of her hands which he held in both of his.
+
+"Perhaps you understand," he said quietly. "Perhaps you know."
+
+The fingers moved slightly, but on the brows a tiny frown was gathering.
+He relinquished her hand with a sigh and stood looking rather helplessly
+in the direction of the mute and pitiless easel. They were so deep in
+thought that neither of them heard the turning of a skeleton key in the
+latch and the opening of the door. The Japanese screen for a moment
+concealed them from the view of a gentleman who emerged into the
+room. Ross Burnett looked up helplessly. It was Mortimer Crabb,
+horror-stricken at this violation of his sanctum.
+
+"Ross!" he said, "what on earth----"
+
+Miss Darrow started from her chair, the crimson rushing to her cheeks,
+and stood drawing the lace across her shoulders.
+
+Burnett was cool. "Miss Darrow," he asked, "you know Mr. Crabb? He's
+studying painting, and--er--sometimes uses this place. Perhaps----"
+
+The words hung on his lips as he realized that Miss Darrow with an
+inclination of the head toward the visitor, had vanished into the
+dressing-room.
+
+As the door closed words less polite came forth.
+
+But Crabb broke in: "Oh, I say, Ross, you don't mean you've had the
+nerve----"
+
+Ross Burnett's brows drew together and his large frame seemed to grow
+compact.
+
+"Hush, Mort," he whispered. "You don't understand. You've made an awful
+mess of things. Won't you go?"
+
+"But, my dear chap----"
+
+"I'll explain later. But go--please!"
+
+With a glance toward the easel Mortimer Crabb went out.
+
+Ross Burnett closed the door, shot its bolt and put his back against it.
+As the clatter of Crabb's boots on the wooden stairs died away on the
+lower floor, he gave a sigh, folded his arms and waited.
+
+When Miss Darrow emerged from the dressing-room ready for the street,
+she found him there.
+
+"My things are in the portmanteau," she said, icily. "My maid will call
+for them. If you will permit me----"
+
+But Burnett did not move.
+
+"Miss Darrow----" he began.
+
+"Will you let me pass?"
+
+"I can't, Miss Darrow--until you hear. I wouldn't have had it happen for
+anything in the world."
+
+"I cannot listen. Won't you open the door?"
+
+He bowed his head as though better to receive her reproaches, but he did
+not move.
+
+"Oh!" she cried, "how could you!" Her chin was raised, and she glanced
+scornfully at him from under her narrowed lids.
+
+"Please," he pleaded, quietly. "If you'll only listen----"
+
+She turned and walked towards the window. "Isn't it punishment enough
+for it all to end like this," he went on, "without making it seem as
+though I were worse than I am? Really, I'm not as bad as I'm painted."
+
+It was an unfortunate phrase. An awkward silence followed it, in which
+he was conscious that Miss Darrow had turned suddenly from the window
+and was facing the Thing upon the easel, which was now revealed to them
+both in all its uncompromising ugliness. From the center of a myriad of
+streaks of paint something emerged. Something in dull tones, staring
+like a Gorgon from its muddy illusiveness. To Burnett it had been only a
+canvas daubed with infelicitous paint. Now from across the room it
+seemed to have put on a smug and scurrilous personality and odiously
+leered at him from its unlovely background.
+
+"Don't," cried Burnett. "Don't look at the thing like that."
+
+But the girl did not move. She stood before the easel, her head a little
+on one side, her eyes upon the canvas.
+
+"It's really not Victorian, is it?" she asked calmly.
+
+"You _must_ listen!" cried Burnett, leaving his post at the door. "I
+insist. You know why I did this mad thing. I've told you. I'd do it
+again----"
+
+"I've no doubt you will," she put in scornfully. "It doesn't seem to
+have been so difficult."
+
+"It was. The hardest thing I've ever done in my life. You gave me the
+chance. I took it. I won't regret it. It was selfish--brutal--anything
+you like. But I don't regret--nine wonderful mornings, twenty-seven
+precious hours--more, I hope, than you've given any man in your life."
+He made one rapid stride and took her in his arms. "I love you,
+Millicent, dear. I've loved you from the first moment--there in the
+picture gallery. Yes, I'd do it again. Every moment I've blessed the
+luck that made it possible. Don't turn away from me. You don't hate me.
+I know it. You couldn't help feeling a response to a love like mine." He
+held her close to him, raising her head at last until her lips were
+level with his own. But he did not touch them. She still struggled
+faintly, but she would not open her eyes and look at him.
+
+"No, no, you mustn't," was all that she found strength to say.
+
+"You can't deny it. You do--care for me. Look up at me and tell me so."
+
+She would not look at him and at last struggled away and stood, her
+cheeks flaming.
+
+"You are masterful!" she stammered. "A girl is not to be won in this
+fashion."
+
+"I love you," he said. "And you----"
+
+"I despise you," she gasped. She turned to the mirror, and rearranged
+her disordered hair.
+
+"Don't say that. Won't you forgive me?"
+
+She sank on the model stand and buried her face in her hands. "It was
+cruel of you--cruel."
+
+The sight of her distress unnerved him and gave him for the first time a
+new view of the enormity of his offense. It was her pride that was
+wounded. It was the thought of what Mortimer Crabb might think of her
+that had wrought the damage. He bent over her, his fingers nearly
+touching her, yet restrained by a delicacy and a new tenderness
+begotten by the thought that it was he alone who had caused her
+unhappiness.
+
+"Forgive me," he whispered. "I'm sorry."
+
+And she only repeated. "What can he think of me? What can he think?"
+
+Burnett straightened, a new thought coming to him. It seemed like an
+inspiration--a stroke of genius.
+
+"Of course," he said, calmly, "you're hopelessly compromised. He must
+think what he pleases. There's only one thing to do."
+
+She arose and breathlessly asked, "What _can_ I do? How can I----"
+
+"Marry me--at once."
+
+"Oh!"
+
+She spoke the word slowly--wonderingly--as if the idea had never occurred
+to her before. He had left the way to the door unguarded, but instead she
+walked toward the window, and looked out over the roof-tops. To Burnett
+the silence was burdened with meaning, and he broke it timorously.
+
+"Won't you--won't you, Millicent, dear?"
+
+Her voice trembled a little when she replied: "There is one thing more
+important than that--than anything else in the world to me."
+
+At her side his eyes questioned mutely.
+
+"And that?" he asked at last.
+
+"My reputation," she whispered.
+
+He stood a second studying her face, for his happiness grew upon him
+slowly. But behind the crooked smile which was half-hidden from him, he
+caught the dawn of a new light that he understood. He took her in his
+arms then, and wondered how it was that he had not kissed her when her
+lips had been so close before. But the new wonder that came to them both
+made them willing to forget that there had ever been anything else
+before.
+
+Later, Ross, unable to credit his good fortune and marveling at the
+intricacies of the feminine mind, asked her a question. Her reply caused
+him more amazement:
+
+"Poor, foolish, Slovenly Peter! I saw it by accident in the mirror a
+week ago."
+
+So it was Mortimer Crabb after all who made the opportunity; for Miss
+Darrow smilingly admitted that had it not been for his abrupt entrance
+at that precise psychological moment, she should now have been in Aiken
+and Ross on the way to the Antipodes. But Patricia was doubly happy; for
+had she not circumvented her own husband in opening the studio he had
+forsworn, the veritable chamber of Bluebeard which had been bolted
+against her? Had she not browsed away among the gods of his youth to her
+heart's content and made that sacred apartment the vestibule of Paradise
+for at least two discontented mortals whose hearts were now beating as
+one?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+
+After this first success, Patricia was filled with the spirit of
+altruism, and winter and summer went out upon the highways and byways
+seeking the raw material for her fateful loom. She was Puck, Portia and
+Patricia all rolled into one. There were Stephen Ventnor and Jack
+Masters, whom she still saw occasionally, but they only sighed and even
+refused to dine at the Castle of Enchantment. She thought sometimes of
+Heywood Pennington, too, and often found herself wondering how the world
+was faring with him, hoping that some day chance would throw him in her
+way. The old romance was dead, of course. But what an opportunity for
+regeneration!
+
+Meantime she had much to do in keeping up her establishment, many
+friends to make in New York, many social duties to perform. She spent
+much time with her husband over the plans of the country place he was
+building on Long Island, which was to be ready for occupancy late in the
+following spring. Mortimer Crabb had formed a habit of going down town
+for a part of every day at least, and if he really did no work he
+created an impression of stability which was rather surprising to those
+who had known him longest. The Crabbs were desirable acquaintances in
+the married set, and before two years had passed, Patricia made for
+herself an enviable reputation as a hostess and dinner guest, to say
+nothing of that of a model wife. Not a cloud larger than a speck had
+risen upon the matrimonial horizon and their little bark sailed steadily
+forward propelled by the mildest of breezes upon an ocean that was all
+made up of ripples and sunshine. Mortimer Crabb loved abundantly, and
+Patricia was contented to watch him worship, while she shaped the course
+to her liking.
+
+There were still times, however, when she sat and watched the flames of
+the library fire while she stirred up the embers of romance. Few women
+who have been adored as Patricia had been are willing too abruptly to
+shut the door upon the memory of the might-have-beens. The coquette in
+her was dying hard--as it sometimes does in childless women. She still
+liked the attentions to which she had been accustomed, and her husband
+saw that she was constantly amused--provided with clever men from his
+clubs as dance partners for the Philadelphia girls who visited them.
+Stephen Ventnor, who was selling bonds down-town, had been persuaded at
+last to forget his troubles and now came frequently to dinner. There was
+nothing Patricia wanted, it seemed, except something to want.
+
+One day, quite by chance, she met another one of the might-have-beens
+upon the street. She did not know him at first, for he now wore a small
+moustache and the years had not passed as lightly over his head as they
+had over hers. She felt her way barred by a tall figure, and before she
+knew it, was shaking hands with Heywood Pennington.
+
+"Patty," he was saying, "don't you know me? Does four years make such a
+difference?" A warm tint rose and spread unbidden from Patricia's neck
+to temples. It angered her that she could not control it, but she smiled
+at him and said that she was glad to see him.
+
+Together they walked up the Avenue, and, as they went, she questioned
+and he told her his story. No recriminations passed. He made it plain to
+her that he was too glad to see her for that. He was in business, he
+said vaguely, and in the future was to make New York his home. So, when
+she took leave of him, Patricia asked the prodigal to call. It will be
+apparent to anyone that there was nothing else to do.
+
+Mortimer Crabb received the information at the dinner table that night
+with a changeless expression.
+
+"I'm sure if you want Mr. Pennington here, he'll be welcome," he said
+with a slow smile. "He's a very, very old friend of yours, isn't he,
+Patty?"
+
+"Oh, yes--since school days," she said, quietly. And she blushed again,
+but if Crabb noticed, it was not apparent, for he immediately busied
+himself with his soup.
+
+"He used to be such a nice boy," said Patricia. "But I'm afraid he got
+pretty wild and----"
+
+"Yes," put in her husband, a little dryly. "I've heard something about
+him."
+
+She glanced at him quickly, but he did not look up and she went on:
+
+"I thought it would be nice if we could do a little something for him,
+give him a lift, introduce him to some influential people----"
+
+"Make an opportunity for him, in short," said Crabb.
+
+"Er--yes. He has had a pretty hard time, I think."
+
+"I shouldn't be surprised," said Crabb, "most people do."
+
+Patricia foresaw an opportunity such as she had never had before, and a
+hundred plans at once flashed into her pretty head for the prodigal's
+regeneration. First, of course, she must kill the fatted calf, and she
+therefore planned at once a dinner party, at which Mr. Pennington should
+meet some of her intimate friends, Dicky Bowles and his wife, the
+Burnetts, who were on from Washington, the Charlie Chisolms and her
+sister Penelope. For reasons of her own Stephen Ventnor was not invited.
+
+Patricia presided skilfully with an air of matronly benevolence not to be
+denied and dextrously diverted the conversation into channels strictly
+impersonal. So that after dinner, while Charlie Chisolm was still talking
+rifle-bores with Mortimer, Patricia and Heywood Pennington went into the
+conservatory to see the new orchids.
+
+That was the first of many dinners. Patricia invited all the eligible
+girls of her acquaintance, one after another, and sat them next to Mr.
+Pennington in an apparent endeavor to supply the deficiency she had
+caused in that gentleman's affections. But new orchids came continually
+to the conservatory, and Patricia was not loath to show them. Then
+followed rides in the motor car when Crabb was down-town, and shopping
+expeditions when Crabb was at the club, for which Patricia chose Heywood
+Pennington as her escort, and whatever Mortimer Crabb thought of it all,
+he said little and looked less.
+
+But if her husband had been willing to worship blindly before he and
+Patricia had been engaged, marriage had cleared away some of the nebulę.
+He had learned to look upon his wife as a dear, capricious being, and
+with the abounding faith and confidence of amply proportioned men he
+was willing to believe that Patricia, like Cęsar's wife, was above
+suspicion. He was quite sure that she was foolish. But Patty's little
+finger foolish was more important to Mortimer than a whole Minerva.
+
+Mr. Pennington's ways were not Crabb's ways, however, and the husband
+learned one day, quite by chance, of an incident that had happened in
+New York which confirmed a previous impression. He went home a little
+sombre, for that very night Mr. Pennington was to dine again at his
+house.
+
+After dinner Patricia and Pennington vanished as usual into the
+conservatory and were seen no more until it was time for Patricia's
+guests to go. The husband lingered moodily by the fire after the door
+had closed upon the last one, who happened to be the might-have-been.
+
+"Patty," he began, "don't you think it a little--er--inhospitable----"
+
+"Oh, Mort," Patricia broke in, "don't be tiresome."
+
+But Mortimer Crabb had taken out his watch and was examining it with a
+judicial air.
+
+"Do you know," he said, calmly, "that you've been out there since ten? I
+don't think it's quite decent."
+
+It was the first time her husband had used exactly this tone, and
+Patricia looked at him curiously, then pouted and laughed.
+
+"Jealous!" she laughed, and blowing him a kiss flew upstairs, leaving
+her husband still looking into the fire. But he did not smile as he
+usually did when this was her mood, and in her last backward glance
+Patricia did not fail to notice it. Instead of following her, Mortimer
+Crabb lit a cigar and went over to his study. Perhaps he should have
+spoken more severely to Patricia before this. He had been on the point
+of it a dozen times. Gossip had dealt with Pennington none too kindly,
+but Crabb didn't believe in gossip and he did believe in his wife.
+
+He finished his cigar and then lit another while he tried to think the
+matter out, until, at last, Patricia, a pretty vision in braids and
+lace, came pattering down. He heard the footfalls and felt the soft
+hands upon his shoulders, but did not turn his head. He knew what was to
+come and had not the humor or the art to compromise. Patricia, with
+quick divination, took her hands away and went around by the fire where
+she could look at her husband.
+
+"Well," she said, half defiantly. Crabb replied without raising his eyes
+from the fire.
+
+"Patty," he said quietly, "you mustn't ask Mr. Pennington to the house."
+Patricia looked at him as though she had not heard aright. But she did
+not speak.
+
+"You must know," he went on, "that I've been thinking about you and Mr.
+Pennington for some time, but I haven't spoken so plainly before. You
+mustn't be seen with Mr. Pennington again."
+
+He rose and knocked his cigar ashes into the chimney and then turned to
+face his wife. Patricia's foot was tapping rapidly upon the fender while
+her figure presented the picture of injured dignity.
+
+"It is preposterous--impossible," she gasped. "I'm going to ride with
+him to-morrow afternoon."
+
+And then after a pause in which she eagerly scanned her husband's face,
+she broke forth into a nervous laugh: "Upon my word, Mort, I believe you
+_are_ jealous."
+
+"Perhaps I am," said Crabb, slowly, "but I'm in earnest, too. Do what I
+ask, Patricia. Don't ride to-morrow----"
+
+"And if I should refuse----"
+
+Crabb shrugged his broad shoulders and turned away.
+
+"It would be too bad," he said, "that's all."
+
+"But how can you do such a thing," she cried, "without a reason--without
+any excuse? Why, Heywood has been here every day for----" and then broke
+off in confusion.
+
+Crabb smiled rather grimly, but he generously passed the opportunity by.
+
+"Every reason that I wish--every excuse that I need. Isn't that enough?"
+
+"No, it isn't--I refuse to believe anything about him." Crabb looked at
+his wife sombrely.
+
+"Then we'd better say no more. Your attitude makes it impossible for me
+to argue the question. Good-night." He opened the door and stood waiting
+for her to go out. She hesitated a moment and then swept by him, her
+very ruffles breathing rebellion.
+
+The next morning he kissed her good-bye when she was reading her mail.
+
+"You'll write him, Patty, won't you?" he said, as he went out.
+
+"Yes--yes," she answered, quickly, "I will--I'll write him."
+
+Patricia did write to him. But it was not at all the sort of a letter
+that Crabb would have cared to see.
+
+     Dear Heywood [it ran], something has happened, so can't ride
+     to-day. Meet me near the arch in Washington Square at three.
+     Until then--
+                              As ever,
+                                       P.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+
+Patricia awoke rudely and with an appalling sense that she had made a
+shocking fool of herself. Heywood Pennington suddenly vanished out of
+her life as completely as though Fifth Avenue had opened and swallowed
+him. Very suddenly he had left New York, they said. And upon her
+breakfast tray one morning Patricia found the following in a handwriting
+unfamiliar and evidently disguised:
+
+                              March 12, 19--
+
+     Mrs. Mortimer Crabb,
+
+     Dear Madam:
+
+     I have in my possession twenty-one letters and notes written by
+     you to Mr. Heywood Pennington, formerly of Philadelphia. Kindly
+     acknowledge receipt of this communication and bring to this
+     office, in person, on Wednesday of next week, five thousand
+     dollars in cash or the letters will be mailed to Mr. Crabb.
+
+                              (Signed) JOHN DOE,
+                              Care of Fairman and Brooke,
+                              No. ---- Liberty Street.
+
+There in her fingers it flaunted its brutality. What could it mean? Her
+letters? To Heywood Pennington? Why--they were only notes--harmless
+little records of their friendship. What had she said? How had this
+odious Doe----?
+
+It was a week since she had seen the prodigal. They had quarreled some
+days ago, for Mr. Pennington's lazy humor had turned to a reckless
+unconvention which had somewhat startled her. Her secret declaration of
+independence had led her a little out of her depth, and she began to
+feel more and more like the child with the jam-pot--only the jam-pot
+was out of all proportion to real jam-pots and the smears seemed to
+defy the most generous use of soap and water. This horrible Doe was the
+neighbor's boy who told, and Mortimer Crabb was suddenly invested with
+a newly-born parental dignity and wisdom. Mort! It made her shudder to
+think of her husband receiving those letters. She knew him so well
+and yet she knew him so little. She felt tempted to throw all else
+to the winds and make a full confession--of what? of a childish
+ingenuousness--which confession would magnify a hundred-fold. What had
+she to confess? Meetings in the Park? Her face burned with shame. It
+would have seemed less childish if her face had burned with shame at
+things a little more tangible. Lunches in out-of-the-way restaurants,
+innocent enough in themselves, whose only pleasure was the knowledge
+that she took them unpermitted. She knew that she deserved to be stood
+in the corner or be sent to bed without her supper, but she quailed at
+the thought of meeting her husband's eye. She knew that he could make it
+singularly cold and uncompromising.
+
+And the letters. Why hadn't Heywood burned them? And yet why should
+he have? Pennington's ideas of a compromising position she realized,
+with some bitterness, differed somewhat from hers. And she knew she
+_couldn't_ have written anything to regret. She tried to think, and a
+phrase here and there recurred to her. Perhaps Mort might know her well
+enough to guess how little they meant--but perhaps he didn't. Words
+written to another were so desperately easy to misunderstand.
+
+How could these letters have fallen into the hands of a stranger? The
+more she thought of it the more impenetrable became the mystery. How
+could this villainous Doe have guessed her identity? A few of these
+letters were signed merely "Patty," but most of them were not signed at
+all. It was dreadful to be insulted with no redress at any hand. Five
+thousand dollars! The very insignificance of the figures made her
+position worse. Was this the value of her reputation? Truly her
+fortunes had sunk to their lowest ebb. She tried to picture John Doe,
+a small ferret of a man with heavy eyes, red hair, and a rumpled
+shirt-front, sitting in a dingy office up three flights of stairs,
+fingering her little scented notes with his soiled fingers. Oh, it was
+horrible--horrible! Yet how could she escape? Would she not tarnish her
+soul still more by paying the wretched money--Mort's money--in forfeit of
+her disobedience to him? Every instinct revolted at the thought. Wouldn't
+it be better after all to throw herself upon Mort's mercy? She knew now
+how much bigger and better he was than anything else in the world.
+She loved him now. She knew it. There wouldn't ever be any more
+might-have-beens. She longed to feel his protecting arms about her and
+hear his quiet steady voice in her ears, even though it was to scold her
+for the mere child that she was. His arms seemed the greater sanctuary
+now--now that she was not sure that they ever could be opened to her.
+Still clasping the letter she buried her face in the pillows of her couch
+and wept. That night she sent down word that she had a headache, but a
+night's rest did wonders. A cheerful, smiling person descended on Crabb
+in the midst of his morning coffee.
+
+"What! Patty! At the breakfast table? Will the wonders never cease?"
+
+"I didn't come to breakfast, Mort. I wanted to see you before you went
+out."
+
+Crabb smiled over the top of his coffee cup.
+
+"What is it, Patty? A hat bill or an opera cloak? I'm prepared. Tell me
+the awful worst."
+
+"Don't, Mort--please. I can't bear you facetious. It's--er--about Madame
+Jacquard's bill and some others. They've gotten a little large and
+she--she wants me to help her out to-day--if I can--if you can--and I
+told her I would----"
+
+Crabb was wrapped in contemplation of his muffin. But he allowed his
+wife to struggle through to the end. Then he looked up a little
+seriously from under heavy brows.
+
+"Um--er--how much, Patty? A thousand? I think it can be managed----"
+
+"No, Mort," she interrupted, tremulously, "you see I have had to get so
+many things of late--we've been going out a great deal you know--a lot
+of other things you wouldn't understand."
+
+"Oh! Perhaps I might."
+
+"No--I--I'm afraid I've been rather extravagant this winter. I didn't
+tell you but I--I've used up my allowance long--ever so long ago."
+
+Mortimer Crabb's brows were now really menacing.
+
+"It seems to me----" he began. But she interrupted him at once.
+
+"I know I ought to be called a beggar on horseback, because I really
+have ridden rather--rather fast this winter----"
+
+"Two thousand?" he questioned.
+
+"No, Mort, you see, it isn't only the dresses and the hats. I'm afraid
+I've been losing more than I should have lost at auction."
+
+"Bridge!" he said, pitilessly, "I thought----"
+
+"Yes--bub--bridge."
+
+"I thought my warning might be sufficient. I'm sorry----"
+
+"So am I," she whispered, her head lowered, now thoroughly abased. "I am
+not going to play any more."
+
+"How much--three thousand?" he asked again.
+
+"No," she said, desperately, "more. I'm afraid it will take five
+thousand dollars to pay everything."
+
+"Phew!" he whistled. "How in the name of all that's expensive----"
+
+"Oh, I don't know----" helplessly, "money adds up so fast--I suppose
+that father might help me if you can't--but I didn't want to ask him if
+I could help it; you know he----"
+
+"Oh, no," said Crabb, with a sudden move of the hand. "It can be
+managed, of course, but I admit I'm surprised--very much surprised that
+you haven't thought fit to take me closer into your confidence."
+
+"I'm sorry, Mort," she muttered, humbly. "It won't happen again."
+
+Crabb pushed back his chair and rose. "Oh, well, don't say anything more
+about it, Patty. It must be attended to, of course. Just give me a list
+of the items and I'll send out the checks."
+
+"But, Mort, I'd like to----"
+
+"I'll just stop in at Madame Jacquard's on the way uptown and----"
+
+Patty started up and then sank back weakly.
+
+"Oh, Mort, dear," she faltered, "it isn't worth while. It would be so
+much out of your way----"
+
+"Not a bit," said Crabb, striding cheerfully to the door. "It's only a
+step from the subway, and then I can come on up the Avenue----"
+
+But Patricia by this time had fastened tightly upon the lapels of his
+coat, and was looking half tearfully up into his face.
+
+"I--I want to see Madame about some things she hasn't sent up yet--I
+must go there to-day. I'll--I'll tell her, Mort, and then if you'll
+arrange it, I'll just send it to her to-morrow."
+
+Mortimer Crabb looked into the blue eyes that she raised to his and
+relented.
+
+"All right," he said, "you shall have your own way." And then, with the
+suspicion of a smile, "Shall I make a check to your order?"
+
+"To--to mine, Mort--it always makes me feel more important to pay my
+bills myself--and besides--the bub--bridge, you know."
+
+When Patricia heard the front door shut behind her husband, she gave a
+great sigh and sank on the divan in a state of utter collapse.
+
+The next day Patricia dressed herself in a plain, dark skirt, a long
+grey coat and wore two heavy veils over an unobtrusive sailor hat. In
+her hand she clutched a small hand satchel containing the precious check
+and the odious letter of John Doe. First she went to the bank and
+converted the check into crisp thousand dollar notes. Then walking
+rapidly she took the elevated for that unknown region which men call
+down-town. There was little difficulty in finding the place. The narrow
+doorway she had imagined was wide--even imposing, and an Irish janitor
+with a cheerful countenance, was sweeping the pavement and whistling. It
+was not in the least Dickens-ish, or Machiavellian. The atmosphere was
+that of a very cheerful and modern New York and Patricia's spirits
+revived. A cleanly boy in buttons ran the elevator.
+
+But as the elevator shot up, Patty's heart shot down. She had hoped
+there would be stairs to climb. The imminence of the visit filled her
+with alarm, and before she realized it, she was deposited--a bundle of
+quivering nerves, before the very door. Gathering her shattered forces
+together, she knocked timorously and entered. It was a cheerful room
+with a bright carpet and an outlook over the river. A small boy who sat
+inside a wooden railing, sprang up and came forward.
+
+"I wish to see Mr. Doe," stammered Patty, "Mr. John Doe."
+
+"Must be a mistake," said the youth. "This is Fairman & Brookes,
+Investments. Nobody that name here, ma'am."
+
+At that moment an elderly man of very proper appearance came forward
+from an inner office.
+
+"Mrs. Crabb?" he inquired, politely. "That will do, Dick, you
+may go inside," and then rather quizzically: "You wished to see
+Mr.--er--Mr.--Doe? Mr. John Doe? I think he was expecting you. If you'll
+wait a moment I'll see," and he entered a door which led to another
+office.
+
+Patricia dropped into a chair by the railing completely baffled. This
+villainous creature expected her! How could he expect her? It was only
+Friday and the appointment was not until the Wednesday of the following
+week. She looked at her surroundings, trying to find a flaw in their
+prosperous garb of respectability. That such rascality could exist
+under the guise of decent business! And the benevolent person who had
+carried her name might very properly serve upon the vestry of St. ----'s
+church! Truly there were depths of iniquity in this vile community of
+business people that her little social plummet could never seek to
+sound. The little red-headed man with the ferret eyes had vanished from
+her mind. In his place she saw a type even more alarming--the sleek,
+well-groomed man with dissipated eyes that she and Mort had often seen
+dining at popular restaurants. Her mission would not be as easy to
+accomplish as it had seemed. Her speech to the ferret-eyed man which she
+had so carefully rehearsed had gone completely from her mind. What she
+should say to this other man, whom she both loathed and feared, her
+vagrant wits refused to invent. So in spite of a brave poise of the head
+she sat in a kind of syncope of dismay, and awaited--she knew not what.
+
+The benevolent vestryman returned smiling.
+
+"Mr. Doe has just come in, Mrs. Crabb. If you'll kindly come this way."
+He opened the door and stood aside with an old-world courtliness that
+all but disarmed her. He followed her into the inner corridor and opened
+another door, smiling the while, and Patricia, trembling from head to
+foot, yet resolute, went in, while the elderly person carefully closed
+the door behind her. A tall figure in an overcoat and soft hat was
+bending over the fireplace upon the opposite side of the room adjusting
+a log.
+
+"Mr. Doe?" came in a small, muffled voice from behind Patricia's veil.
+
+The man at the fireplace still poked at the logs and made no move to
+take off his hat.
+
+"The brute--the utter brute," thought Patricia--and then aloud, "Mr.
+Doe, I believe."
+
+"Yes, madam," said a voice at last. "I'm John Doe--what can I do for
+you?"
+
+"I came about the letters--the letters, you know, you wrote me about. I
+am prepared to--to redeem them."
+
+"H--m," growled the overcoat. "It's Crabb, isn't it? Mrs. Crabb? I'm
+always getting the Cobb and Crabb letters mixed--six of one and half a
+dozen of the other----"
+
+"I beg pardon," faltered Patty.
+
+"Cases very similar. Bad man--good woman. Trusting husband--hey? Well,"
+he muttered brutally, "did you bring the money?"
+
+"It is here," said Patricia, trembling. "Now the letters--and let me
+go."
+
+The man moved slowly toward a desk against the wall with his back still
+turned, took out a package, rose and, turning, handed it to Patricia.
+
+Had her gaze not been fixed so eagerly upon the handwriting on the
+package she could not have failed to note the smiling gray eyes above
+the upturned coat collar.
+
+"Why, it is sealed and addressed to me!" she cried, in surprise. "The
+package hasn't even been opened."
+
+"I never said it had," said the man in the overcoat, removing his hat.
+"I didn't want to read the stuff, Patty."
+
+The package fell to the floor amid the fluttering bills. Patricia's
+knees trembled and she would have fallen had not a pair of strong arms
+gone about her and held her up.
+
+"It's only Mort, Patty," said a voice. "Don't you understand? It's all
+been a deception and mistake. There isn't any John Doe. It's only your
+husband----"
+
+"Oh, how could you, Mort?" sobbed Patricia. "How could you be so
+hard--so--so cruel?"
+
+Crabb's answer was to push the veil back from his wife's face and kiss
+away her tears. She did not resist now and sank against him with a
+restful sigh that told him more than any words could do the full measure
+of her penitence. But in a moment she started up pale and wide-eyed.
+
+"But this office--these people--do they know----"
+
+"Bless you, no," laughed Crabb. "Fairman's a sort of business associate
+of mine. I only borrowed his private office for an hour or so. He thinks
+it is a practical joke. It was--is--a cruel one----"
+
+"But he'll guess----"
+
+"Oh, no, he won't," laughed Crabb.
+
+Patricia's gaze fell quietly upon the floor where the bills and the
+package still lay in disordered confusion.
+
+"And the letters--you never even read them?"
+
+"Oh, Patty," said her husband, "I didn't want to read 'em."
+
+"Can you ever forgive me, Mort?" She broke away from him, bent to the
+floor, picked up the package, and broke the seal.
+
+"But you _shall_ read them, Mort," she cried, her face flaming, "every
+last silly one of them."
+
+But Crabb's hands closed over hers and took the package gently from her.
+His only answer was to throw the papers into the fire.
+
+"Oh, Mort," she murmured, horrified, "what have you done--you might
+believe _anything_ of me now."
+
+"I shall," he chuckled, "that's your penance."
+
+"Please, Mort--there's time yet--just read a few----"
+
+Crabb poked vigorously at the fire.
+
+"Oh, Mort, it's inhuman! You only knew Heywood Pennington----"
+
+"Sh----" said Crabb, putting his hand over her lips. "No names----"
+
+"But he----"
+
+"No, no." And then, after a pause, "He wasn't even a might-have-been,
+Patty." She said no more. They sat hand in hand watching the record of
+Patricia's foolishness go up in smoke. And when the last scrap had
+vanished, he sprang cheerfully to his feet and picked up the scattered
+bills.
+
+"Come, Patty, luncheon! And after that"--Mortimer Crabb stopped again
+and blinked quizzically at the fire--"hadn't we better keep your
+engagement--with Madame Jacquard?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+
+Thus ended the might-have-beens. And the thing that Patricia had taken
+to be the phantom of romance went up in the smoke of John Doe's fire.
+Mortimer Crabb never volunteered any information as to how he got the
+letters, nor any information as to what became of Heywood Pennington.
+For one horrible moment the thought crossed Patricia's brain that
+perhaps there had never been any letters of hers in the package
+her husband had burned, but she dismissed it at once as reflecting
+unpleasantly upon the quality of her intelligence. But one thing was
+sure, she now had an adequate understanding of the mind of her husband.
+It was the only misunderstanding they had ever had and Patricia knew
+there would never be another. Mr. Pennington did not appear again and so
+far as this veracious history is concerned, after his departure from
+New York, may have gone at once to Jericho. Patricia ceased to think
+of him, not because he was not present, but because thinking of him
+reminded her that she had been a fool, and no woman with the reputation
+for cleverness which Patricia possessed, could afford to make such an
+admission even to herself. She was now sure of several things--that she
+loved Mortimer Crabb with all her heart--and that she would never all
+her life long love anyone else. She might flirt, yes--nay more, she
+_must_ flirt. What was the use spending one's life in bringing an art to
+the perfection Patricia had attained and then suddenly forswearing it?
+Fortunately her husband did not require that of her. He never quite knew
+what she was going to do next, but he never really mistrusted her. And
+to Patricia's credit it may be said that she never caused pain and that
+if she flirted--she sometimes did--it was in a good cause.
+
+The building of the country place had gone forward during the winter,
+and early summer found them installed there. Beginning with the
+housewarming, which was memorable, guests came and went and upon them
+all Patricia practiced her altruism which, since the adventure with John
+Doe, had taken a somewhat different character. Yet even among these she
+found work for her busy hands to do.
+
+It happened that among their guests the Crabbs had staying with them as
+a remnant of the housewarming party a young girl who, because she was
+only a little younger than Patricia in years, but centuries younger in
+knowledge of the world, had become one of her most treasured friends.
+
+Little Miss North loved her, too--looked up to her as the ignorant do to
+the wise, and when her engagement to the Baron DeLaunay was announced
+Aurora came and told Patricia even before she told her family. Yet
+Patricia's shrewd mind found something wrong and she urged the girl to
+come and join her housewarming for the sole reason of finding out the
+true inwardness of the engagement, and perhaps, too--who shall say?--to
+practice her arts again.
+
+After a day or two of mild questioning, of studying, of watching, she
+began to see light.
+
+Then she invited the Baron for a week end, and made certain preparations.
+
+Then she waited his arrival with her nerves tingling.
+
+She met her husband and the Baron at the steps as they ascended from the
+machine which brought them from the station.
+
+"Ah monsieur! so glad! I was wondering if you'd be here in time for
+tea."
+
+"Wild horses could not have detained me longer, from a glimpse of your
+_beaux yeux_, Madame."
+
+He bent forward with a handsome gesture and kissed the tips of Patricia's
+fingers, but she laughed gaily.
+
+"Don't waste pretty speeches, Baron. Besides----" she paused significantly
+and pointed toward the door through which her husband's shoulders had
+disappeared, "she is there," she finished.
+
+"_Hélas!_" The Frenchman shrugged his shoulders expressively; then
+straightened and showed his teeth in a smile.
+
+"Since my speeches are wasted, I will follow you in, Madame."
+
+Patricia paused.
+
+"All the world loves a lover--even I----"
+
+"Yes--yes----"
+
+"If I could be sure that you loved----"
+
+"You?"
+
+"Her," sternly.
+
+He shrugged again, "Ah, yes--I love her--of course! Why, otherwise,
+should I wish to marry her?"
+
+"I wonder," slowly, "why you speak of my _beaux yeux_?" she said
+thoughtfully.
+
+"Because I cannot help it----"
+
+"A lover should be blind," she put in.
+
+"Like a husband?" he asked, significantly.
+
+"Like a wife," she corrected, soberly.
+
+He followed her indoors, where Aurora met them at the door of the
+library.
+
+"Tea, Aurora," she announced. "Will you pour it? Mort and I will be in
+in a moment."
+
+She hovered in the doorway insistently until she saw DeLaunay safely
+seated on the davenport at the tea-table by Aurora's side, and only then
+she departed in the direction of the smoking room.
+
+Mortimer Crabb was drinking a glass of whiskey and water. At the sound
+of his wife's voice he turned.
+
+"Did you get it, Mort?" she asked.
+
+For reply he fumbled in the pockets of his dust-coat and brought forth a
+small package.
+
+"Oh, yes. Here it is. Pretty insignificant affair to make such a fuss
+about," and he handed it to her.
+
+"It's the little things that mean the most, my dear husband--like that,"
+she said significantly, "and this," and she kissed him for his reward.
+
+He held her away from him and looked at her good-humoredly--the
+quizzical humor that was characteristic of him.
+
+"You never kiss me unless you're up to some mischief, Patty."
+
+"Then you ought to be glad I'm mischievous, Mort. It's an ill wind that
+blows nobody any good."
+
+"H--m. Why all the mystery? Can't you tell a fellow?"
+
+She shook her head.
+
+"No."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"Because then you don't know as much as I do."
+
+"Why shouldn't I?" he protested. "I'm your husband."
+
+"Because if you knew as much as I do----" She paused. "You know, Mort,
+it's only the ignorant husband who's entirely, blissfully happy."
+
+"I'm not so sure about that," he laughed.
+
+"Aren't you happy, Mort?" she asked.
+
+"Ah, hang it, yes. But----"
+
+"Then there's nothing left to be said," and she kissed him again.
+
+"I can't understand----"
+
+She laid resisting fingers on his arm.
+
+"Of course you can't. That's one of your charms, Mort, dear. It's much
+better for a woman to be misunderstood. The husband who 'understands'
+his wife is on the highway to purgatory. Ask no more questions. If I
+answer them I surely will lie to you."
+
+"What the deuce can Daggett and McDade be doing for you. They're
+job-printers. They don't engrave your cards or stationery or
+anything----"
+
+"N----o," with a rising inflection.
+
+"Well--what?"
+
+"I needed some printing."
+
+"Well, why not go to Tiffany's? The idea of your sending me away over on
+the East side----"
+
+"They're such adorable printers, Mort."
+
+"Who ever heard of a printer being adorable? Fudge! What's the game
+now? Can't you tell a fellow?"
+
+"No," firmly.
+
+Crabb always recognized the note of finality in his wife's voice, so he
+merely shrugged his shoulders and followed her with his eyes as she blew
+another kiss in his direction and vanished up the stairs.
+
+In the privacy of her own room Patricia did some cryptic things with
+newspapers, a pair of scissors, and the package from the adorable
+printers, and when she had finished, she folded up the newspapers, with
+their mysterious contents, including the scissors, and with a fleeting
+glance at herself in the mirror, went down stairs.
+
+She entered the library noiselessly and after a glance at her guests at
+the tea-table, she slipped her package into the drawer of the library
+table and joined them.
+
+"How envious you make me--you two," she sighed, sinking into a chair,
+"you're so satisfied with yourselves--and with each other."
+
+DeLaunay smiled and fingered his tea-cup.
+
+"Would you have it otherwise?" he asked.
+
+"Oh, no," she said lightly, "I'm a professional nursery governess to
+polite and well-meaning persons of opposite sexes. Nursery governesses
+are not permitted emotions or opinions of any kind, my dears."
+
+"But even nursery governesses are human, I am told," said DeLaunay,
+showing his white teeth.
+
+"Are they? _My_ governesses never were. They were all inhuman--like me.
+The sight of youthful license arouses all my professional instincts.
+That's why I'm in such demand by despairing mothers of romantic
+heiresses."
+
+"Patty! you're horrid." Aurora's heavily lidded eyes opened wide. "I'm
+not romantic--not in the least--and I'm _not_ an heiress----"
+
+"Oh," said Patricia.
+
+"At least," Aurora amended, "not in the modern sense. But it wouldn't
+matter to Louis or to me if we--really had to work for our living. I'm
+so anxious to be of some use in the world. Oh, we've planned that
+already, haven't we, Louis?"
+
+"Yes," said DeLaunay, crisply, with a glance of defiance in his eye for
+Patricia. "We have planned that."
+
+Patricia's lips twisted, but she said nothing.
+
+"I sometimes think, Patty," went on Aurora, "that you're a little
+unsympathetic. Won't you really like to see us married?"
+
+Patricia laughed. "Oh, yes--but not to each other."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"You're too much in love, dear, for one thing. _C'est si
+bourgeois--n'est-ce-pas, Baron?_ Things are arranged better in France?"
+
+He shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"Your customs in America are very pleasant ones," he replied,
+imperturbably. "I am indeed fortunate to find myself so much in accord
+with them."
+
+Aurora gave him a rapturous glance for reward, and he took her fingers
+in his in calm defiance of his pretty hostess.
+
+Patricia put down her finished tea-cup with a laugh and rose.
+
+"Then I can't dismay you--either of you?"
+
+Aurora smiled scornfully.
+
+"Not in the least--can she, Louis?"
+
+"Not in the least," he repeated.
+
+"Oh, very well, your blood upon your own heads."
+
+"Or in our hearts, Madame," corrected DeLaunay, with a bow.
+
+"Come, Aurora," smiled Patricia, "it's time to dress."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Patricia spent some time and some thought upon her toilet. Deep
+sea-green was her color, for it matched her eyes, which to-night were
+unfathomable. In the midst of her dainty occupation she turned her head
+over her shoulder and called her husband. Mortimer Crabb appeared in the
+door of his dressing-room which adjoined, one side of his face shaved,
+the other white with lather.
+
+"What is it?" he mumbled.
+
+Patricia contemplated the back of her head at the dressing-table by the
+aid of a hand mirror, removed the hairpins one by one from her mouth and
+deliberately placed them before she replied.
+
+"Mort," she said, slowly, "I want you to take Aurora out for a ride in
+the motor----"
+
+"To-night! Oh, I say, Patty----"
+
+"To-night," she said, firmly. "I'll arrange it. It will be dark and
+you're going to lose your way----"
+
+"How do you know I am?"
+
+"Because I tell you so, stupid! You've _got_ to lose your way--for three
+hours."
+
+He looked at her shrewdly.
+
+"What's up now? Tell me, won't you? I'm tired of rolling over and
+playing dead. I am. Besides, what can I do with that girl for three
+hours?"
+
+"Oh, I don't care," said Patricia. "Tell her stories--romantic ones.
+She likes those. Anything--make love to her if you like."
+
+"So DeLaunay can make love to _you_," peevishly. "I see. I'm not going
+to stand for it. I'm not any too keen on that fellow as it is. He's
+neglecting Aurora shamefully----"
+
+"It _is_ careless of him, isn't it?" she said, tilting her head back to
+get another angle on her head-dress.
+
+Crabb took a step nearer, brandishing his safety razor in righteous
+indignation.
+
+"It's a shame, I tell you. You don't seem to have any conscience or any
+sense of proportion. You'd flirt with a cigar-Indian if there wasn't
+anything else around. Why can't you leave these young people alone? Do
+you think I like the idea of your spending the evening here snug and
+warm with that Frenchman while I'm shuttling around with that silly girl
+in the dark?"
+
+"Mortimer, you're ungallant! What has poor Aurora ever done to you?" She
+turned in her chair, looked at him, and then burst into laughter. He
+watched her with a puzzled frown. He never knew exactly how to take
+Patricia when she laughed at him.
+
+"If you only knew how funny you look, Mort, dear. There's a smudge of
+soap on the end of your nose and you look like a charlotte russe." She
+rose slowly, put her fingers on his arm, and looked up into his eyes
+with a very winning expression.
+
+"Don't be silly, dear," she said, softly. "You know you said you weren't
+going to doubt me again--ever. I know what I'm about. I have a duty, a
+sacred duty to perform and you're going to take your share of it."
+
+"A duty?"
+
+She nodded. "You're not to know until it's all over. You mustn't
+question, you're to be good and do exactly what I tell you to do. Won't
+you, Mort? There, I knew you would. It's such a little thing to do."
+
+She leaned as close to him as she could without getting soap on her
+face.
+
+"I'll tell you a secret if you'll promise to be nice. I don't like the
+man--really I don't--not at all."
+
+He looked in her eyes and believed her. "You always get your way in the
+end, don't you?" he said, after a pause.
+
+"Of course I do. What would be the _use_ of a way, if one didn't _have_
+it?"
+
+That seemed unanswerable logic, so Crabb grinned.
+
+"You're a queer one, Patty," which, as Patricia knew, meant that she was
+the most extraordinary and wonderful of persons. So she smiled at the
+back of his head as he went out because she agreed with him.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+
+Patricia's dinner drew to its delectable close, and coffee had already
+been served when the butler went to the front door and brought back a
+telegram on a silver tray.
+
+Patricia picked it up and turned it over daintily.
+
+"For you, Aurora," she said.
+
+Aurora with apologies tore open the envelope and read, her brow
+clouding.
+
+"I hope it's nothing serious," said Patricia, sweetly sympathetic.
+
+Aurora rose hurriedly. "I don't know," she said dubiously, and then
+reading: "'Aunt Jane sick, motor over this evening if possible.' There's
+no signature. I suppose I'll have to go." Her lip protruded childishly.
+"How tiresome!"
+
+"It's very inconsiderate of her, isn't it?" said Patricia. The look of
+incomprehension still lingered on the young girl's face.
+
+"I can't see what she wants of me," she murmured.
+
+"Perhaps she's seriously ill," Patricia volunteered.
+
+"Perhaps--yes, I must go, of course. But how can I?"
+
+"Mortimer," Patricia provided the cue.
+
+"I'll drive you, Aurora," said Crabb.
+
+"And Louis?"
+
+DeLaunay made no sign.
+
+"I will take care of the Monsieur DeLaunay, dear. Do you think you could
+trust me?"
+
+Aurora's lips said, "Of course," but her eyes winked rapidly several
+times as she adapted her mind to the situation.
+
+The decision reached, DeLaunay stepped forward.
+
+"If you wish that I should go----"
+
+"Quite unnecessary," put in Patricia, quickly. "If your aunt Jane is
+sick, Aurora----"
+
+Aurora hung in the wind a regretful moment.
+
+"Oh, yes--he'd be in the way. I'll leave him with you, Patty. Please
+don't flirt any more than you can help."
+
+"My dear child," said Patty, with solemn conviction, "since poor,
+foolish Freddy Winthrop, engaged men are _taboo_. Besides, to-night I
+have other plans. I would not flirt if you could animate the Apollo
+Belvedere. As Mortimer so chastely puts it, 'me for the downy at 10 G.
+M.' Monsieur will doubtless practice pool-shots or play a game of
+Napoleon."
+
+"Oh, yes," said the Frenchman, with a calmness which scarcely concealed
+the note of derision.
+
+But Aurora, after one long look in his direction, had vanished to
+don motor clothing, and when she came down, Mortimer Crabb with his
+quivering car awaited her in the drive. Patricia and the Baron waved
+them good-by from the porch and then went indoors to the subtle
+effulgence of the drawing room. Patricia walked to the mantel, turned
+her back to the fire and stretched her shapely arms along its shelf,
+facing her guest with level gaze and a smile which was something between
+a taunt and a caress. DeLaunay inhaled luxuriously the smoke of his
+cigarette and appraised his hostess through the half-closed eyes of the
+artist searching for a "motif." She was puzzling--this woman--like the
+vagrant color in a landscape in the afternoon sunlight, which shimmered
+one moment in the sun and in the next was lost in shadowy mystery--not
+the mystery of the solemn hills, but the playful mystery of the woodland
+brook which laughs mockingly from secret places. Her eyes were laughing
+at him. He felt it, though none of the physical symbols of laughter were
+offered in evidence.
+
+"I'm so sorry, Monsieur," she began in French. "It is _such_ a pity.
+There is no excuse for any one to have a sick aunt when the stage is
+set for sentiment. I had planned your evening so carefully, too----"
+
+"You are the soul of kindness, Madame," he said politely, still studying
+her.
+
+"Yes," she went on, slowly, "I think I am. But then I am _chez moi_, and
+charity, you know, begins at home."
+
+"I hope you will not call it charity. Charity they say is cold. And you,
+Madame, whatever you would seek to express, are not cold."
+
+"How can you know?"
+
+"Your eyes----"
+
+"My _beaux yeux_ again." She shrugged her shoulders, and turned toward
+the door. "It is time, I think, for you to practice pool-shots."
+
+"Ah, you are cruel!" He stepped before her and held out protesting
+hands. "I do not care for pool, Madame."
+
+"Or Napoleon?"
+
+"No--I wish to talk with you. Please!"
+
+She paused, appraising him sideways.
+
+"I have some letters to write," she said, briefly.
+
+"Please, Madame." He stood before her, his slender figure gracefully
+bent, motioning appealingly toward the deep davenport, which was set
+invitingly in front of the fire. She followed his gesture with her eyes,
+then with a light laugh passed before him and sat down.
+
+"Nothing about my _beaux yeux_ then," she mocked.
+
+He glanced at her with a smile which showed his fine teeth and sank
+beside her and at a distance.
+
+"_Voilą_, Madame! You see? I am an angel of discretion."
+
+She smiled approvingly. "I'm glad we understand each other."
+
+"Do we?" he asked with a suggestion of effrontery.
+
+"I hope so."
+
+"I'm not so sure. To me you are still a mystery."
+
+"Am I? That's curious. I've tried to make my meaning plain. Perhaps I
+can make it clearer. For some weeks you have been making love to me,
+Monsieur. I don't like it. I never flirt, except with the very ancient
+or the very youthful," she said mendaciously. "You don't come within my
+age limits."
+
+He laughed gayly.
+
+"Love is of all ages and no ages. I am both ancient and youthful. Old
+in hope, young in despair--in affairs of the heart, I assure you, a
+veritable babe in the arms. I have never really loved--until now."
+
+"Why do you marry Aurora then?" she put in.
+
+He looked at her with a puzzled brow, then laughed merrily. "Madame, you
+are too clever to waste your time in America." But as Patricia was
+looking very gravely into the fire, he too relapsed into silence, and
+frowned at the ash of his cigarette.
+
+"I do not see, Madame, why we should speak of her," he said, sulkily. "It
+must be clear to you that our understanding is complete. The marriages
+in my country, as you know----"
+
+"Oh, yes, I know," she interrupted, "but Miss North is different. She
+has not the social ambitions of other girls. Miss North is romantic but
+quite unspoiled. Has it occurred to you that perhaps she may hope for a
+somewhat different relation between you?"
+
+"We are good friends--very good friends. She is enchanting," he said
+with enthusiasm, "so innocent of the ways of the world, so talented, so
+charming. We shall be very happy."
+
+"I hope so," dryly.
+
+He examined her shrewdly.
+
+"You have her happiness close to your heart! Is it not so? What is to be
+feared? I shall be very good to her. We understand each other. She will
+be glad of the splendor of my ancient name, and I desire the means to
+restore my estates and place myself in a position of influence among
+my people. I care for her as one cares for a lovely flower--but the
+mind--the soul, Madame, I have found them--elsewhere," he leaned forward
+and touched her fingers with his own.
+
+Patricia's gaze was far away. It seemed as though she was unconscious of
+his touch. "It is a pity," she said, softly, "a great pity. I am very
+sorry."
+
+"Could you not learn to care a little?"
+
+She turned on him then, but her voice was still gentle.
+
+"We are not in France, Monsieur," she said coldly.
+
+"What does that matter?" he urged. "Love knows nothing of geography.
+Love is a cosmopolite. It cares not for time or place or convention. I
+care for you very much, Madame, and whatever you may think, it makes me
+happy to tell you so."
+
+"And Aurora?" Patricia reiterated the word, like the clanging of an
+alarm bell.
+
+The Baron relaxed his grasp and lowered his head.
+
+She leaned forward, elbow on knee, looking into the fire.
+
+"You know, Baron, I'm very sorry for Aurora."
+
+As he made no comment she went on:
+
+"She has always been a very sweet, amiable, honorable child. I'm very
+fond of her. She was very much alone with her books and her family. She
+has always lived in an atmosphere of her own--an atmosphere that she
+made for herself, without companions of her own age. Her mother brought
+her up without the slightest knowledge of the guile, the deceit, or
+wickedness of the world in which some day she was to live. They used
+even to scan the newspapers before she was permitted to read them, and
+clip out objectionable paragraphs. Even I have done that since she has
+been here visiting me. Her father was always too busy making money to
+bother. At the age of twenty she is still a dreamer, old in nothing but
+years, living in an idyl of her own, the sleeping princess in the
+fairy-tale whom you, the gallant prince, have awakened with a kiss."
+
+DeLaunay's shoulders moved slightly as he sighed.
+
+"That kiss, Monsieur! You have awakened her," she went on, "to what?"
+She paused abruptly and turned toward him for a reply.
+
+"Your question is hardly flattering to my vanity," he said, smiling.
+"There are women----"
+
+"She is a child."
+
+"All women are children. I shall find means to make her happy."
+
+Patricia resumed her study of the fire.
+
+"I hope so. With money your opportunities for happiness would be
+greater. Without money----" she paused and shook her head slowly.
+
+The Baron turned abruptly, but Patricia's gaze was fixed upon the fire.
+When he spoke his tones were suppressed--his manner constrained.
+
+"Madame--what do you mean?"
+
+She faced him slowly, her expression gently sympathetic.
+
+"Have you not heard?"
+
+"Heard what, Madame?"
+
+"Of Monsieur North's misfortune--you must have seen it in the
+newspapers----"
+
+"The newspapers! No--what is it?"
+
+"Monsieur North has lost his money."
+
+DeLaunay rose quickly, one hand before him as though to ward off a blow.
+
+"What you tell me is impossible," he said thickly.
+
+"No," gravely. "It is true."
+
+He stared at her unbelieving, but her eyes met his calmly, eagerly, and
+in their depths he saw only pity.
+
+"Would I not have heard this dreadful thing, Madame? Aurora would have
+told me."
+
+"She might have told you if she had known."
+
+"She did not know?"
+
+"They want to save her the pain. They always have. That is one reason
+why she is stopping here with me. Don't you understand?"
+
+DeLaunay showed other signs of inquietude and was now pacing the rug
+nervously.
+
+"It is incredible!" he was saying, "incredible! I cannot--no----" And he
+stopped before her. "No, I will not believe it!"
+
+Patricia clasped her hands over her knees and was looking very gravely
+into the fire. She had the air of a person who is mourning the loss of a
+very dear friend.
+
+"How do you know this?" he asked again, anxiously.
+
+"From Mrs. North a week ago, when she let Aurora come to me. But it is
+no secret now, as it has been in the newspapers. I have kept them from
+Aurora. She is so happy here with you--I hadn't the heart to do anything
+to destroy her pleasure."
+
+"But North and Company is a very great business house. So rich that even
+in France we have heard of them."
+
+"Yes--Mr. North has been rich for years," and then with a sigh, "It is
+very sad--very, very sad."
+
+"But how could such a thing happen? Surely he is wise enough----"
+
+"Speculation!" said Patricia, simply. "All of our business men
+speculate. Even the oldest--the wisest."
+
+DeLaunay sank into a chair at some distance, his head in his hands.
+"_Dieu!_" she heard him mutter. "What a terrible country. I cannot
+believe----"
+
+Patricia got up at last and walked over and put her hand quietly on his
+shoulder. She was even smiling.
+
+"I am so sorry, Monsieur. Of course you know that, don't you? But I am
+sure everything will turn out for the best. Aurora loves you. You must
+remember that poverty will make no difference in the relations between
+you. She will even welcome the chance to be poor--she wants to be of
+some real use in the world--she has said so--you had even planned that,
+Monsieur!"
+
+The Frenchman turned just one look in her direction, a look in which
+despair, inquietude, inquiry and anger were curiously blended and then
+rose and strode the length of the room away.
+
+"You are mocking me. You know, Madame--that--that it is impossible--this
+marriage--if--what you tell me is true."
+
+"I wish I could reassure you," slowly.
+
+"What proofs have you?"
+
+"Isn't my word enough?"
+
+"Yes, but----"
+
+"You want confirmation. Very well!" Patricia walked to the library
+table, opened its drawer, and took out the _Sun_ and _Herald_. As she
+opened them two paper cuttings and a pair of scissors fell to the
+floor. She picked them up before DeLaunay could reach her, opening
+the newspapers, both of which bore signs of mutilation. And while he
+wondered what she was about to do or say, she resumed calmly, even
+indifferently. "I had clipped these papers that Aurora might not see
+them. Since you profess some incredulity, perhaps you'd rather read for
+yourself." And she handed them to him.
+
+He adjusted his monocle with trembling fingers, and began reading the
+slips, his lips moving, his eyes dilated, while Patricia watched him,
+her eyes masked by her fingers. She saw him read one article through,
+then scan the other, his lips compressed, his small chin working
+forward.
+
+"Five million dollars!" he whispered at last. "It is terrible--terrible.
+And there will be nothing at all."
+
+"It looks so, doesn't it?" she replied. "Read on."
+
+And he read the remainder of it aloud, pausing at each sentence as
+though fascinated by the horror of it. When he had read the last word,
+the papers dropped from his fingers upon the tea-table beside him. At a
+grimace his eye-glass dropped the length of its cord and he stood erect,
+squaring his shoulders and straightening to his small height with the
+air of a man who has made a resolution.
+
+"Madame," he said, more calmly, "this is very disagreeable news."
+
+"It's quite sad, isn't it? But I must warn you against speaking to
+Aurora just yet. The news is spreading fast enough and to-morrow it may
+be necessary to tell her. In the meanwhile you must be gentle with her
+and tender--you can comfort her so much. She will need all your kindness
+now, Monsieur."
+
+But DeLaunay had taken out his watch. "Madame, I thank you for your
+kindness to me, but I am--I am much perturbed--I--I do not want to see
+Miss North until I can think what I must do. Would you mind if I went in
+town to my hotel----"
+
+"To-night?"
+
+"Yes--to-night."
+
+"She will think it strange for you to go without a word."
+
+"I--I----"
+
+"You could leave a note."
+
+"You will permit me?"
+
+Patricia watched him seat himself heavily at her writing-desk.
+
+"Monsieur," she asked, "what will you say to her?"
+
+"That I am ill--that I----"
+
+"How will that help either you or her?"
+
+He shrugged his shoulders hopelessly.
+
+"What then, Madame?"
+
+"I don't know," she said, slowly. "It is a very painful note to write. I
+am very sorry for you, sorry for Miss North, sorry for myself that you
+learned of this through me. It is curious that no one told you," she
+sighed. "But perhaps it is just as well that you know."
+
+"I am grateful, Madame, I cannot tell you how grateful," he began, but
+she held up her hand.
+
+"It pains me to see Miss North unhappy, but I know more of life than she
+does. I was educated in France, Monsieur, and I know what is expected of
+American girls who marry into the _ancienne noblesse_--the _noblesse de
+souche_. Of course, without a _dot_, this marriage is impossible."
+
+"Yes, Madame, that is true. It is--impossible, absolutely impossible."
+
+"Aurora--Miss North believes in your love for her--she will hardly
+understand----"
+
+DeLaunay swung around in his chair and rose, facing the hostess.
+
+"There must be no misunderstanding between us," decisively, "I shall go
+at once."
+
+"That's your decision--your final decision?"
+
+"It is--final."
+
+By this time she stood beside him at the desk, and as she spoke her
+finger pointed to the paper and ink.
+
+"Then you must write her to-night--before you go. It would not be fair
+to leave matters to me. It is not fair to her or to yourself. Sit down,
+Monsieur, and write."
+
+He sank into the chair again.
+
+"And what shall I write?"
+
+"If I can help you----" sweetly.
+
+"I will write what you say," with a sigh of relief.
+
+So Patricia seated herself beside him and with a troubled brow dictated
+in English.
+
+     "My dear Miss North:
+
+     "I have learned with horror and dismay of the great bereavement
+     which has fallen upon you and your family, but in view of this
+     misfortune, I have thought it wisest to take my departure at
+     once.
+
+     "You will understand, of course, that under these conditions it
+     is advisable to discontinue our present relations at once, and
+     as my presence might prove embarrassing I leave with feelings
+     of great unhappiness. You are doubtless aware of the customs of
+     my country in the matter of settlements, the absence of which
+     would preclude the possibility of marriage on my part.
+
+     "Mrs. Crabb has kindly consented to make my apologies and
+     excuses to you for my abrupt departure which I take with deep
+     regret, the deeper because of my profound esteem for your many
+     delightful qualities, of which you may be assured I shall
+     never cease to think with tender and regretful sentiments----"
+
+Patricia broke off abruptly. "I think that is all, Monsieur. Will you
+finish it--as you please?"
+
+The baron nodded and added:
+
+     "I am, Mademoiselle, with profound assurances of my friendship
+     and consideration,
+
+                              "Yours,
+                              "Louis Charles Bertram de Chartres,
+                              "Baron DeLaunay."
+
+
+Patricia meanwhile had ordered the Baron's suitcase packed and had
+'phoned for a station wagon and a while later stood in the hallway
+speeding the parting guest.
+
+"Must you go, Monsieur? I am so very sorry. I understand, of course. I
+am the loser." And with all the generosity of a victorious general whose
+enemy is no longer dangerous. "If you are nice you may kiss my hand."
+
+As DeLaunay bent over her fingers he murmured: "If it had only been
+_you_, Madame."
+
+And in a moment he had gone.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+
+Patricia stood in the hallway a moment looking at the note to Aurora,
+which she held in her fingers. Then she went to the desk so recently
+vacated by her guest and wrote steadily for an hour. Her thesis was the
+international marriage, and she called it Crabb vs. DeLaunay, enclosing
+two papers, DeLaunay's note and the newspaper clippings from her
+adorable printers. Slips of paper were pinned to them, upon one of which
+she had written "Exhibit A," and on the other "Exhibit B." She sealed
+them all in a long envelope addressed to Miss North and handed it to
+Aurora's maid with instructions that it should be given to her mistress
+when she had gone up to her room.
+
+From her own bed Patricia heard the motor arrive and her husband
+fuming in the hallway below, the sound of Aurora's door closing and
+of Mortimer's heavy footsteps in his own quarters; then after awhile,
+silence. She lay on her bed in the dark thinking, listening intently. It
+was long before she was rewarded. Then her door opened quietly, and in
+the aperture the night-lamp showed a pale, tear-stained face and a
+slender, girlish figure swathed in a pale blue dressing gown.
+
+"Patricia!" the girl half sobbed, half whispered, "Patty!"
+
+Patricia rose in her bed and took the slender figure into her sheltering
+arms. "Aurora--darling. I've been waiting for you. Can you forgive me?"
+
+"Yes--yes," sobbed the girl. "I understand."
+
+"You were too good for him, Aurora, dear. He wasn't worthy of you." And
+then, as an afterthought. "But then, I don't know a man who is."
+
+Patricia breathed a sigh of relief. She had thought it was going to be
+more difficult. She made room for the girl in the bed beside her and
+soothed and petted her until she fell asleep.
+
+"Poor Aurora," she murmured softly to herself. "You were never destined
+for a life like that, child. The man you marry is to be an American, a
+fine, young, healthy animal like yourself. I will not tell you his name
+because if I did, you'd probably refuse him, and of course that would
+never do. It must be managed some way. He's poor, you know, dear, but
+then that won't matter because you will have enough for both."
+
+It did not take Aurora a great while to recover from the shock of
+disillusion and before long she was out on the golf links again,
+with her usual happy following. Aurora had many virtues as well as
+accomplishments, and Patricia was very fond of her. During the winter in
+the city, she had given a dinner for her to which Stephen Ventnor was
+invited. Patricia's plan had succeeded admirably, for Ventnor, after
+several years of indomitable faithfulness to the ashes of the mourned
+Patricia, had suddenly come to life. He liked Aurora so much that he
+didn't even take the trouble to hide his new emotion from Patricia.
+Patricia sighed, for even now renunciation was difficult to her, but
+when she moved into the country for the summer, she held out the
+latch-string to him for the week ends so that he could come out every
+week and play golf with Aurora, which showed that after all marriage had
+taught Patricia something.
+
+Patricia had decided that Aurora North was to marry Steve Ventnor, and
+this resolution made she left no stone unturned to bring the happy event
+to a consummation. The skilful maker of opportunities she remembered
+sometimes trusted to opportunity to make itself. Propinquity, she knew,
+was her first lieutenant and the unobtrusive way in which these two
+young people were continually thrown together must have been a surprise
+even to themselves. Ventnor took his two weeks of vacation in July and
+spent them at the Crabbs'. Patricia had thought that those two weeks
+would have brought the happy business to a conclusion--for Aurora was
+just ready to be caught on the rebound, and Ventnor was now very much in
+love. But when Steve's vacation was over and he had packed his trunk to
+go mournfully back to town, Patricia knew that something had happened to
+change her well-laid plans.
+
+She had never given Jimmy McLemore a thought. She had seen the three
+many times during the summer from her bedroom windows, Aurora, Steve and
+McLemore, but the thought of Aurora having a tenderness for the golfing
+automaton had never for a moment entered her mind. She watched Mr.
+Ventnor's departing back with mingled feelings.
+
+"You'll be out on Saturday as usual, won't you, Steve?" she asked.
+
+"Oh, yes, thank you, Patty," he replied, "I'll be out, if you'll have
+me. But there isn't much use, you know."
+
+"Don't be so meek, Steve!" she cried. "You're impossible when you're
+that way. What earthly use did you make of all of my training?"
+
+Ventnor smiled mournfully.
+
+"You didn't begin soon enough, Patty," he said.
+
+That pleased Patricia and she made a mental resolution that marry
+Aurora, Steve should, if it lay in her power to accomplish it.
+
+"There's something wrong with that girl," she mused, as she watched
+Aurora and "the Sphynx"--as McLemore was familiarly called--playing
+the fifth hole. "Anybody who can see anything marriageable in Jimmy
+McLemore, ought to be carefully confined behind a garden wall. Jimmy! I
+would as soon think of marrying a statue of Buddha."
+
+The _Blue Wing_ was out of commission for the summer. Mortimer insisted
+that no sane man could maintain both a big yacht and a big country
+place. But Patricia was very happy and watched the development of Steve
+Ventnor's romance with a jealous eye. She was obliged to admit, as the
+summer lengthened into autumn, that after all, the whole thing was very
+much a matter of golf.
+
+Aurora was golf mad, Patricia knew, and when Jimmy McLemore ran down a
+twenty-foot putt for a "bird" on the sixteenth hole, thereby winning
+"three up and two" from Steve Ventnor, the golf championship of the
+Country Club, Patricia detached herself from the "gallery" which had
+followed the players and made her way sadly to the Club House veranda.
+Penelope Wharton, her sister, who was fond of Ventnor, followed, the
+picture of dejection. In the morning round Steve had been "one up"; and
+the hopes of the two women had run high that their champion would be
+able to increase his lead during the afternoon, or at least to maintain
+it against his redoubtable adversary, but after the first few holes the
+victor had developed one of those "streaks" for which he was famous, and
+though poor old Steve had played a steady up-hill game, the luck went
+against him and he knew at the tenth hole that unless McLemore fell over
+in a fit, the gold cup was lost--for that year at least.
+
+Patricia realized, too, that the famous gold cup might not be the only
+prize at stake.
+
+"And now," she said wrathfully, "she'll probably marry that _person_."
+Mr. McLemore would have withered could he have seen the expression in
+Patricia's eyes, for when Patricia called any human being a "person," it
+meant that her thoughts were unutterable.
+
+"I suppose so," said Penelope.
+
+"I've no patience with Aurora North," said Patty, "she's absolutely
+lacking in a sense of proportion. Imagine letting one's life happiness
+hang on the fate of a single putt."
+
+"And Steve is _such_ a dear."
+
+"He is, that's the worst of it--and they're eminently fitted for
+each other in every way--by birth, breeding, and circumstances. As a
+sportsman Jimmy may be a success, but as a gentleman--as a lover--as a
+_husband_----"
+
+Patricia's two brown hands were raised in protest toward Olympus. "It's
+odious, Pen, a case for a grand jury--or a coroner!"
+
+"Aurora is too nice a girl," sighed Penelope.
+
+"Nice! In everything but discrimination. That's the peril of being an
+'out-of-door girl.' The more muscle, the less gray matter. That kind of
+thing disturbs the balance of power." Patricia sighed--"Oh, I tried
+it and I know. A woman with too much muscle is like an over-rigged
+yawl--all right in light airs, but dangerous in a blow. What's the use?
+Our greatest strength after all, is weakness."
+
+"I'm sure you couldn't convince Aurora of that--nor Steve."
+
+"I don't know," said Patricia, slowly, "but I'd like to try."
+
+Further talk was interrupted by the arrival of the crowd from the
+fair-green, thirsty and controversial. Steve Ventnor, like the good
+loser that he was, had been the first to shake McLemore by the hand in
+congratulation, and if he was heavy of heart, his smiling face gave no
+sign of it. For the present, at least, he had abandoned the field to
+his conqueror who brought up the rear of the "gallery" with Aurora,
+accepting handshakes right and left with the changeless dignity which
+had gained him his sobriquet of "Sphynx." At the veranda steps Mortimer
+Crabb took him in tow and brought him to the table where Penelope and
+Patricia were mournfully absorbing lemonade.
+
+"Too bad, Steve," said Patricia with a brightness that failed to deceive.
+"Nobody with mere blood in his veins can expect to compete with a
+hydraulic ram. He's a wonderful piece of mechanism--Jimmy is--but I'm
+always tortured with the fear that he may forget to wind himself up some
+morning. Mort, couldn't you have dropped a little sand in his bearings?"
+
+"Oh, he's got plenty of sand," said Crabb generously.
+
+"He's a cracking good golfer," said Steve, looking reprovingly at
+Patricia. "He's the better man, that's all."
+
+He sank beside Patricia while Crabb had a steward take the orders.
+
+"No," muttered Patricia. "Not that, not the better man, only the better
+golfer, Steve." And then with a sudden and mystifying change of manner,
+"Do you know why he always wears a crimson vest?"
+
+"No--I've never thought," replied Steve.
+
+"It's very--un--er--unprofessional--isn't it?"
+
+"It isn't what a man wears that wins holes, you know, Patty."
+
+"Oh, no," she said, carelessly, "I was just wondering----"
+
+Mortimer Crabb, unofficial host of the occasion, had beckoned to Aurora
+and McLemore, who now joined the party. Steve Ventnor rose as the
+girl approached and their eyes met. Aurora's eyes were the color of
+lapis-lazuli, but the deep tan of her skin made them seem several shades
+lighter. They were handsome eyes, very clear and expressive, and at
+important moments like the present ones her long lashes effectually
+screened what might have been read in their depths.
+
+"I'm sorry, Steve," she said gently. "You didn't have enough practice."
+
+"Are you really?" asked Steve. He bent his head forward and said
+something for Aurora's ears alone, at which her lids dropped still
+further and the ends of her lips curved demurely. But she did not reply,
+and turned in evident relief when Crabb made a hospitable suggestion.
+
+Patricia watched the by-play with interest. She had followed the romance
+with mingled feelings, for it was apparent that the triangle which had
+been equilateral in the spring was now distorted out of all semblance to
+its former shape, with poor Steve getting the worst of it. The reason
+was clear. The Sphynx was rich and so could afford to play golf with
+Aurora every day of the year if he wished, while Steve Ventnor, who
+spent his daylight hours selling bonds in the city, had to make the most
+of his Saturday and Sunday afternoons. It was really too bad.
+
+But the Sphynx only smiled his unhumorous smile, and went on playing
+golf during the week when Ventnor was at work. Propinquity had done a
+damage which even Patricia, with all her worldliness, could not find
+available means to repair. But she joined good-humoredly in the toasts
+to the new club champion who was accepting his honors carelessly,
+keeping her eyes meanwhile on Jimmy McLemore's crimson vest. That vest
+was a part of Jimmy's golf, as much a part of it as his tauric glasses,
+his preliminary wiggle on the tee, or his maddening precision on the
+putting-green. It fascinated her somehow, almost to the exclusion of the
+gayety in which she rightfully had a part.
+
+The gold cup was brought forth and passed from hand to hand. As it came
+to Patricia she looked at it inside and out, read the inscription
+leisurely, then handed it carelessly to her neighbor.
+
+"Chaste and quite expensive," was her comment.
+
+"Oh, I think it's beautiful," said Aurora, reprovingly.
+
+"_Chaque enfant ą son gou gou_, my dear," said Patricia. "You know,
+Aurora, I never did approve of golf prizes--especially valuable ones.
+After all, golf is merely a game--not a religion. It's the habit in this
+club to consider a golf cup with the same kind of an eye that one gives
+to a possible seat in Paradise."
+
+Even Steve Ventnor thought Patricia's remarks in bad taste.
+
+"If Jimmy plays the game of life the way he played golf to-day," he
+laughed, "he'll have an eighteen-karat halo, and no mistake."
+
+"Patty!" exclaimed Miss North, reprovingly. "You know you don't believe
+a word you say. You love golf prizes. Why you're always giving the
+Bachelors' Cup, and this year you've presented the cup for the
+'Affinity Foursomes.' Besides, you've won at least three prizes
+yourself."
+
+"I've reformed," said Patricia, decisively. "I've lost patience with
+golf. I haven't any interest in a game that requires the elimination of
+all human attributes."
+
+"What on earth are you talking about?"
+
+"One can't be entirely human and play a good game of golf, that's all,"
+she announced.
+
+"That's rough on McLemore," laughed Mortimer.
+
+"It's human to be irritated, human to be angry, human to have nerves,
+human to make mistakes. I've no patience with people who can't lose
+their tempers."
+
+"I'm apt to lose mine, if you keep calling me names," said the Sphynx,
+affably.
+
+"You couldn't, Jimmy," said Patricia, soberly. "Anyone who can make the
+tenth, eleventh and twelfth in eleven playing out of two bunkers will
+never lose his temper in this world--or anything else," she added,
+_sotto voce_.
+
+"There won't be any more Bachelors' Cups, then?"
+
+"Not if I can help it. At least not for the Ancient and Honorable Game
+as we play it now. The Bachelors' Cup this fall will be played for
+across country." The members of the party examined her as though they
+believed she had suddenly been bereft of her senses--all but her
+husband, who knew that in being surprised at Patty, one was wasting
+valuable energy, but even Mortimer was mildly curious.
+
+"Across country!" they asked.
+
+"Exactly. I'm going to invest the game with a real sporting interest,
+develop the possibilities of the niblick, eliminate the merely
+mechanical, introduce a stronger element of chance. The course will be
+laid out like a 'drag.'"
+
+"With an anise-seed bag?" queried Crabb.
+
+Patricia withered her husband with a look. "With scraps of paper," she
+asserted, firmly. "The course will be four miles long over good hunting
+country."
+
+"You can't mean it," said McLemore.
+
+"I do. It's quite feasible."
+
+"Yes, but----"
+
+"It's a good sporting proposition," said Aurora North, suddenly kindling
+to interest. "Why not?"
+
+Ventnor and McLemore only smiled amusedly, as became true golfers.
+
+"Oh you can laugh, you two. Why not give it a trial? Just to make it
+interesting I'll offer a cup for the Club champion and runner-up. It
+will be a pretty cup--and Aurora and I will caddy."
+
+"Willingly," laughed Aurora.
+
+There the matter stopped. It was a joke, of course, and both men
+realized it, but any joke in which Aurora North had a part was the joke
+for them. A week passed before Patricia completed her plans and in the
+meanwhile everybody had forgotten all about her amazing proposition. It
+was, therefore, with surprise and not a little amusement that McLemore
+and Ventnor received the dainty notice in Patricia's handwriting, which
+advised them that the Cross Country Match would be played off on the
+following Thursday afternoon, at two o'clock. Jimmy McLemore smiled at a
+photograph on the desk in his library, but later in the day after a talk
+over the telephone with Aurora he got a mashie, and a heavy mid-iron
+from his bag and went out in his own cow-pasture to practice. Steve
+Ventnor in his office in the city turned the note over in his fingers
+and frowned. Thursday was his busiest day, but he realized that he had
+given his promise and that if McLemore played he must. It was a very
+silly business. Several things mystified him, however. What did Patricia
+mean, for instance, by the absurd lines at the bottom of his invitation?
+"Aurora will caddy for you; and don't wear a crimson vest--there's
+nothing to be gained by it."
+
+On a slip of paper enclosed were the _local rules_:
+
+     (1) The first ball and every fourth ball thereafter may be
+         played from a rubber tee.
+
+     (2) A ball in "casual" water may be lifted and dropped without
+         penalty.
+
+     (3) Running brooks, ponds, rocks, fences, etc., are natural
+         hazards, and must be played over as such.
+
+     (4) A lost ball means the loss of one stroke, but not of
+         distance. A ball may be dropped within twenty-five yards
+         of the spot where ball disappeared.
+
+     (5) _The match must be finished_ within four hours. The
+         competitor who for any reason fails to finish loses the
+         match.
+
+Steve Ventnor smiled as he read, but in spite of his golf sense, which
+is like no other sense in the world, felt himself gently warming to the
+project. He would go of course--for Aurora was to caddy for him.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+
+Even Mortimer Crabb was excluded from that charming luncheon of four. It
+was very informal and great was the merriment at Patricia's expense, but
+through it all she smiled calmly at their scepticism--as Columbus at
+Salamanca must have smiled, if he ever did, or Newton or Edison, or any
+others of the world's great innovators.
+
+"Cross-country golf," she continued proudly to assert, "is the golf of
+the New Era."
+
+"Do you really mean it, Patty?" asked Aurora seriously, when the men had
+gone upstairs to change.
+
+"Of course I do, Aurora. The Ancient and Honorable Game has its
+limitations. Cross-country golf has none. You'll see, my dear, in ten
+years, they'll be playing distance matches between New York and
+Philadelphia--the fewest strokes in the shortest time--that _will_ be a
+game."
+
+"And who'll pay for the lost balls?" asked Aurora, laughing.
+
+"That, Aurora," replied Patricia with a touch of dignity, "is something
+with which I am remotely concerned."
+
+The men came down stairs dressed for the fray, grinning broadly, and
+Patricia, after a glance at McLemore's red vest, took up his golf bag
+with a business-like air and led the way to the terrace. The Sphynx
+blinked through his tauric glasses at her unresponsive back silhouetted
+in the doorway, but as Aurora had taken Steve's bag, he followed meekly,
+submitting to the inevitable. Outside, Patricia was indicating a rift in
+the row of maples which bordered her vegetable garden, through which was
+to be seen the brown sweep of the meadow beyond.
+
+"The drive is through there. You'll get the direction marks for your
+second. The distance is four miles. The finish is on Aurora's lawn--the
+putting-green near the rear portico of the house. Drive off, gentlemen."
+
+The honor was Mr. McLemore's. With a saddish smile, half of pity and
+half of a protest for his outraged golfing dignity, he took his bag from
+Patricia, and with a frugality which did him credit, upturned the bag on
+the lawn, spilling out a miscellany of old balls which he had saved for
+practice strokes. Selecting half a dozen, he stuffed five of them in his
+pockets, returned the newer ones to his bag and scorning the rubber tee
+which Patricia offered him, dropped a ball over his shoulder and took
+his cleek out of his bag. Each act was sportsman-like--a fine expression
+of the golfing spirit.
+
+The drive went straight--and they saw it bouncing coquettishly up the
+meadow beyond. Steve, with the munificence which only poverty knows,
+brought forth a new ball, took the rubber tee and, with his driver, got
+off a long low one which cleared the bushes and vanished over the brow
+of the hill.
+
+"A new golfing era has begun," said Patricia, with the air of a prophet.
+
+"If I ever find my ball," said Ventnor, dubiously.
+
+"What do you care, Steve, as long as you're making history?" laughed
+Aurora, with a sly glance at their hostess.
+
+Patricia, unperturbed, led the way through a breach in the hedge and out
+into the sunlight where she raised a crimson parasol, which no one had
+noticed before.
+
+"My complexion," she explained to Aurora. "One can't be too careful when
+one gets to be--ahem--thirty. Besides, it just matches Jimmy's vest."
+
+The grass in the pasture was short and McLemore played his brassey--his
+caddy instructing him as to the ground on the other side, which fell
+gently down to a brook he could not reach.
+
+"I got that one away," said McLemore, livening to his task. "It's not
+really bad going at all."
+
+Patricia smiled gratefully, but made no response, for Steve, a little
+further on, was in a hole and had to play out with a mashie, which he
+did with consummate skill, the ball rolling down the hill thirty yards
+short of McLemore's.
+
+From the hilltop they could easily see the line of the paper chase which
+Patricia had laid when she rode over the course yesterday. It stretched
+across the lower end of the Renwick's meadows along the road, crossing
+two streams, bordered with willow trees and led straight for Waterman's
+stone quarry. Ventnor played a careful mid-iron which cleared the brook
+and bounded forward into the meadow beyond; but McLemore overreached
+himself trying for distance and found the brook, losing his ball and two
+strokes; but he teed up, having played five and lay six well down the
+meadow, within carrying distance of the second stream. But Steve,
+playing steadily, passed him with his fourth, a long cleek shot which
+fell just short of the stream.
+
+Beyond the creek was the hill to the quarry, three shots for McLemore,
+two long ones for Ventnor. With excellent judgment McLemore played
+safely over the creek with a mid-iron, reaching the brink of the quarry
+in two more, which gave him a chance to tee up on his ninth for the long
+drive across. Steve Ventnor was less fortunate, dribbling his sixth up
+the hill, fifty yards short of the quarry, into which, trying a long
+cleek shot to clear it, he unfortunately drove. He waited to see the
+Sphynx carefully tee his ball and send it straight down the course which
+Patricia indicated, and then taking the bag from his caddy helped her
+into the path which zig-zagged down to where his ball lay, a hundred
+feet below.
+
+Patricia and the Sphynx had chosen the shorter way through the woods at
+the upper end and Steve and Aurora were alone.
+
+At the bottom of the slope behind a projecting crag Steve stopped and
+faced his companion.
+
+"Aurora," he said.
+
+"Yes, Steve."
+
+"Is it true you're going to marry McLemore?"
+
+Aurora picked a flower which grew in a ledge beside her before she
+replied.
+
+"Why do you ask?"
+
+"I thought I'd like to know, that's all. People say you are----"
+
+"_I_ haven't said so."
+
+"Then," eagerly, "you aren't?"
+
+"I don't see what right you've got to ask."
+
+"I haven't--only I thought I'd like to be the first to congratulate
+him."
+
+"Oh, is that all?"
+
+"And I thought I'd like to tell you again that I love you better than
+anybody could--and that I always will, even if you marry him. He's a
+very nice fellow but--but I'll be very unhappy----"
+
+"Will you? I don't believe it."
+
+"Why do you say that?"
+
+"Because you're too cool about it. You wouldn't think he was such a nice
+fellow if you were jealous of him. Why haven't you played more with me
+this summer?"
+
+"I had to work--you know that. What's the use----"
+
+"If you love me as you say you do, I don't see how you could be so cool
+about--about seeing us together----"
+
+"Perhaps I wasn't as cool as I looked. See here, Aurora, you mustn't
+talk like that." He had turned and before she could escape him, had
+taken her in his arms and was kissing her. "Don't say I'm cool. I love
+you, Aurora, with every ounce that's in me. I want you more than I can
+ever want anything again in this world or the next. I'm not going to let
+you marry that fellow or anybody else--do you understand?"
+
+She had yielded for a moment to his warmth because there didn't seem to
+be anything else to do. But when she slowly disengaged herself from his
+arms and faced him her eyes were wet and the color flamed through her
+tan.
+
+"Steve!" she stammered. "Steve!--how could you?"
+
+But he still faced her passionately, undaunted. "It's true," he said
+huskily. "I love you--you can't marry him--I won't let you----"
+
+He took a step forward but this time she retreated.
+
+"Don't, Steve--not again--not now--you mustn't. They'll be coming
+out in the open there in a moment. I'll never say you are cool
+again--never--after that. You're not cool--not in the least--I was
+mistaken. I've never seen you--like this before--you're different----"
+
+"You made me do it. I couldn't stand your saying I didn't care. I'm not
+sorry," he went on, "he couldn't love you the way I do."
+
+"I think perhaps you're right," said Aurora coolly. "In the meantime----"
+
+"Won't you give me an answer?"
+
+"In the meanwhile," she went on, preening her disordered hair, "you are
+supposed to be playing the golf of the New Era----"
+
+[Illustration: "'You are supposed to be playing the golf of the New
+Era.'"]
+
+"Aurora----"
+
+"No," she had taken up his golf bag and was walking away.
+
+"Won't you answer me?" he pleaded.
+
+"Get your ball out of this quarry," she said, relentlessly, "and I'll
+think about it."
+
+It took Steve Ventnor thirteen strokes to play out of that quarry,
+which, for a fellow with a record of seventy-two at Apawomeck, was
+"going it." The first stroke he missed clean; the second he sliced into
+a clay-bank; his third struck the rocks and bounded back against the
+wall behind him, finding lodgment at last in some bushes where he
+took three more. To make matters worse, Aurora was laughing at him,
+hysterically, unrestrainedly, and Patricia and the Sphynx, who had
+appeared on the path above, were joining in the merriment.
+
+"Oh, I'll lift," he growled at last.
+
+"You can't," laughed Aurora. "It's against the rules." And Patricia
+appealed to, confirmed the statement.
+
+Three more swings he took, each of them in impossible lies, the last of
+which smashed his niblick. After that there followed a period of strange
+calmness--of desperation, while he worked his ball into a good lie on
+the far side of the quarry from which, with a fine mashie shot he lifted
+it over the cliffs and into the open beyond.
+
+Steve Ventnor toiled wearily up the hill at the heels of his caddy,
+struggling for his lost composure. He caught up with Aurora at a point
+half-way up where he took the golf bag from her shoulder and faced her
+again.
+
+"Won't you answer me, Aurora?" he pleaded, breathlessly.
+
+"No, I won't," she said, calmly. "You swore--horribly--in the bushes."
+
+"I didn't."
+
+"I heard you," firmly. "I'll never marry a man who swears," and she
+hurried on. When Ventnor joined the others, he found Patricia sitting on
+a rock making up the score, which at the present moment stood:
+Ventnor--20; McLemore--9.
+
+"How do you like it, Steve?" asked Patricia, still figuring.
+
+"Oh, it's great!" said Steve, ironically, holding up his shattered
+niblick. "I like granite, it's so spongy."
+
+"I'm afraid you've got a bad temper, Steve."
+
+But Ventnor had taken out his pipe, lit it and was now doggedly moving
+toward his ball.
+
+The luck favored him on his next volley, for playing two mid-irons down
+the hill, he reached the level meadow below safely, while McLemore
+sliced his second into a row of hot frames, where an indignant
+horticulturist and two dogs contributed an interesting mental hazard.
+But the Sphynx handed the farmer a dollar in exchange for lacerated
+feelings and glass, and the match went on. Over the brook McLemore lay
+thirteen, having "dubbed" his shot into the stream, but playing steadily
+after that reached the top of the long hill before them, safely in four
+more; while Ventnor lost his ball in the bushes and was now playing
+twenty-five.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+
+From there on, the luck varied and at the Stockbridge farm the score
+stood McLemore, 21; Ventnor, 30. It seemed a difficult lead to overcome,
+for the Sphynx was playing straight with a mid-iron, while Steve, whose
+only hope lay in getting distance, had twice pulled into rough grass,
+which cost him lost balls and extra strokes. The wonder was how he
+played at all, for Aurora had refused to marry him three times in the
+last twenty minutes. The result was inevitable, and so like the man in
+the adage, after playing thirty-eight strokes, he "went up in the air,"
+missing shot after shot and relinquishing all claim to consideration,
+playing on only because fate seemed to demand it of him.
+
+At the Van Westervelt's fence both men got off "good ones," landing well
+in the middle of the pasture and had gone forward into the field, their
+caddies close behind them, when from the shelter of a clump of trees
+along the stream to their left, there emerged a shadow. Aurora saw it
+first.
+
+"It's a bull," she said.
+
+"No, it's only a cow," ventured the Sphynx, whose tauric glasses were
+not adjusted to distances--or to bulls.
+
+"I'm sure it's a bull," repeated Aurora.
+
+Steve glanced at the beast over his shoulder, and then took a brassey
+from his bag.
+
+"He won't bother us," he muttered. But the animal was approaching
+majestically, pausing now and then to paw up the dirt with his front
+hoofs and throwing a cloud of dust over his back.
+
+"It's your parasol, Patty," said Aurora.
+
+"Or Jimmy's vest," put in Patricia.
+
+"You'd better run for it, you and Aurora," said Ventnor. "You can easily
+make the fence."
+
+"And you?"
+
+"I'm going to play this shot. It's the prettiest lie I've had all day."
+
+"Come, Aurora," said Patricia, taking up her bag. "There's no time to
+lose. He's really coming this way," and gathering up her golf bag and
+skirts, she ran. The Sphynx, meanwhile, still holding his mid-iron in
+his hand, was undecided. His ball was twenty yards further on, and his
+eyes shifted uneasily from the bull to an old apple-tree within a
+reaching distance. The women by this time had reached a convenient stile
+and were perched upon it shouting.
+
+"Run, Steve!" they cried. "He's coming!"
+
+Ventnor, who was addressing his ball, glanced up for a moment and then
+swung. It was the prettiest shot that he had made all day, for the ball
+started with a low trajectory and soared and soared, clearing the fence
+on the far side of the field, a carry of two hundred yards, and landed
+in the next meadow. Then he turned, club in hand, and looked at the bull
+which now stood twenty paces away, eying them viciously. It was too late
+to make a sprint for the fence, and like McLemore, Steve wistfully eyed
+the apple-tree. But he brandished his brassey manfully and prepared to
+jump aside if the bull lowered his head and rushed him. It was at this
+moment that Jimmy McLemore, white as a sheet, made up his mind to run.
+Jimmy's red vest decided the matter, and scorning Ventnor, with a bellow
+which lent wings to Jimmy's feet, the brute lowered its thick head and
+charged, passing like a tornado under the limb to which McLemore had
+fled for safety. Steve Ventnor forgot to be frightened and stood leaning
+on his club roaring with laughter, for the Sphynx's dignity had always
+been a fearful and wonderful thing to him. He heard the voices of the
+women behind him, pleading with him to run, but in his heart Steve
+Ventnor made a mighty resolution that run he would not. He had no
+dignity like Jimmy's to lose, but the spectacle Jimmy made decided him.
+It took some strength of mind to moderate his pace as he picked up
+Patricia's red parasol and walked toward the fence. The bull however,
+refused to be distracted, and stood pawing the ground beneath the
+apple-tree, bellowing up at the soles of the Sphynx's boots and making
+havoc of the beautiful Campbell mid-iron, which was the only thing of
+Jimmy's that he could touch.
+
+The women on the stile were laughing, Patricia frankly, uncontrollably,
+Aurora nervously, looking at Steve as he came up with a queer little
+anxious wrinkle between her eyebrows.
+
+"I haven't any patience with you," she said. "You might have been gored
+to death."
+
+Ventnor was still laughing. "I never saw Jimmy run before," he said.
+"We'll have to get him out of that somehow. I think I'll have a try at
+it with Patricia's parasol."
+
+But Patricia quickly snatched it from his hand. Her little drama had
+worked out far more beautifully than she had ever hoped it would, and
+she didn't propose to have it ruined now.
+
+"Nothing of the sort," she cried. "You may do whatever you like with
+your own skin, but that is a perfectly good French parasol, and it's
+mine." And she put it behind her back.
+
+Meanwhile the Sphynx was pelting the brute below him with apples and
+shouting anathema, both of which rolled from the animal's impervious
+back, as he circled angrily around the tree, up which he showed every
+disposition to climb. From tragic-comedy the scene had degenerated into
+broadest farce.
+
+"It's like Sothern playing a part of Georgie Cohan's," commented
+Patricia, sweetly. "Is he apt to be there all day?"
+
+"It looks so," said Aurora, struggling between anxiety and laughter. "We
+really ought to do something."
+
+But Patricia had settled herself comfortably on the top rail of the
+fence. Things were going very much to her liking.
+
+"What?" she asked.
+
+"Tell somebody. There's a wagon coming this way now."
+
+"But how about the Cross-Country Cup?" looking at her watch. "There's
+only an hour and a half to finish in."
+
+"But we can't leave him up there," said Steve, more seriously. "That
+bull will be there until--until the cows come home."
+
+"Jimmy is perfectly safe," said Patricia, "unless he goes to sleep and
+falls out; and he can't starve unless he throws all the apples at the
+bull."
+
+"Patty, you're heartless," said Aurora, but she laughed when she said
+it.
+
+The farmer who came along in the wagon took in the situation at a glance
+and laughing more loudly than any of them, consented at last to drive to
+the barnyard and tell the farmer.
+
+"It won't do any good," he said, sagely. "That bull won't go back until
+he follows the cows at milking time. He might quit before that--I dunno.
+I'll do what I can though." And with a laconic chirrup to his nag, he
+departed in the direction of the Van Westervelts' farmyard.
+
+The party of three followed him with their eyes until he had disappeared
+in a cloud of dust and then examined the apple-tree from which the
+Sphynx's legs dangled hopelessly. The rest of him was hidden among the
+leaves.
+
+"Until the cows come home," said Patricia, solemnly, and looking into
+one another's eyes all three of them burst into shameless laughter. And
+with that laugh free-masonry was established. It was plainly to be read
+in Aurora's eyes. The toppling of Jimmy's dignity had been too much for
+her own sense of gravity.
+
+Patricia meanwhile had taken out her watch. "This, my dear children,"
+she said, indicating with a fine gesture, the Sphynx's apple-tree, "is
+one of the hazards of the New Game of Golf. There is only an hour and a
+half to finish in. Play the game, you two, I must wait."
+
+"It wouldn't be the sporting thing," said Steve, struggling with a
+desire to obey.
+
+"I'd like to know who is as good a judge of the rules of a game as its
+inventor," said Patricia. "Am I right, Aurora?"
+
+Aurora by this time was fingering at the strap of Ventnor's golf bag.
+"Yes," she decided, "as Patricia says, it's in the game."
+
+Steve glanced at her quickly, joyfully, but her head was lowered and she
+was already down the steps of the stile and walking along the road
+toward the adjoining meadow. Ventnor's eyes met Patricia's for the
+fraction of a second of wireless telegraphy, after which Steve plunged
+down the steps and followed his caddy.
+
+The gabled roof of Augustus North's house was visible above the trees
+scarcely half a mile away, but the paper chase led to it by devious,
+sequestered ways, which Steve Ventnor and his caddy scrupulously
+followed. Many times on the way they stopped in the shadow of the trees,
+and but a few minutes of time remained when Steve ran down his putt. It
+had taken him just one hundred and three shots to do that last nine
+hundred yards in an hour and forty minutes. His caddy counted them;
+which only went to prove her a conscientious person, for under the
+circumstances book-keeping was a difficult matter.
+
+Perched upon her stile, in smiling patience Patricia waited "until the
+cows came home," while Mortimer Crabb, who had been notified over the
+telephone of the disaster, drove up to see the final chapter in Jimmy
+McLemore's undoing. For the farmer came and at some pains extracted him
+from his perilous post. The Crabbs drove McLemore to his home in their
+motor and then ran over to the Norths to hear how the cross-country
+match had finished. The happy couple met them at the steps.
+
+"The ball is in the hole, Patty, dear," said Steve Ventnor. "Do I win
+the Cup?"
+
+"You do," said Patricia, looking at her watch, "by three hours and a
+half. And it's a loving-cup, Steve, with cupids and things, I had it
+made especially for you and Aurora."
+
+Aurora kissed Patricia with enthusiasm.
+
+"How did you know, Patty, it was to be Steve?"
+
+"Simplest thing imaginable! Because Steve is the most adorable boy,
+always excepting Mort, that was ever born--and then you know,
+Aurora--you couldn't have married Jimmy!"
+
+"That's true," said Aurora, thinking of Jimmy's legs in the apple-tree,
+"I really couldn't."
+
+Steve refused to return to the Crabbs' to dinner, so the Makers of
+Opportunities departed alone. Mortimer drove slowly through the
+gathering dusk and Patricia sat silent.
+
+"Are you happy, Patty?" he asked, at last.
+
+"No, of course not," said Patricia, pinching his ear, "you know I'm
+never happy with you, Mort."
+
+"Aren't you getting a little tired of putting the world in order?"
+
+"Oh, yes. But young people are _so_ provoking. They can never make up
+their own minds, and you know _somebody_ has to do it for them."
+
+"Haven't you ever wondered how the world would get on without you?"
+
+"No, but sometimes I've wondered how you would."
+
+"I? Ah! I wouldn't get on at all. And yet you know there's a
+responsibility in being married to a Dea ex Machina."
+
+"What, please?"
+
+"The machinery may run down."
+
+"And then?"
+
+"The goddess may end in the ditch."
+
+"Mort!"
+
+"Or get a blow-out--you came near it, Patty."
+
+"I didn't, Mort--ever."
+
+"How about----?"
+
+He was going to say John Doe, but she put her fingers over his lips so
+that he only mumbled.
+
+"No, Mort--I'm a prudent goddess--a chauffeuse extraordinary."
+
+"I'm sure of that, but----"
+
+"But what?"
+
+"No car can endure so long out of the garage."
+
+"You're a silly old thing." She sighed comfortably and leaned her head
+over on his shoulder. In a moment she spoke again. "I think you're quite
+right though, Mort."
+
+"Aren't you tired of making opportunities for other people?"
+
+She made a sound that he understood.
+
+"I am, a little, you know, Patty," he added. The motor purred gently as
+it glided out of a country road into the turnpike.
+
+"What do you say if we begin making opportunities for each other?"
+
+She started up with a laugh.
+
+"I never thought of that," she said. "When shall we start?"
+
+"At once, Patty. If you'll provide the opportunity," and he kissed her,
+"I'll be its thief."
+
+But she captured him at once.
+
+THE END.
+
+
+
+
+A SPLENDID SOCIETY NOVEL
+
+
+The Bolted Door
+
+     By GEORGE GIBBS, author of "Tony's Wife," etc. Illustrated by
+     the author. 12mo. Cloth, $1.25 net.
+
+The story of an ambitious young inventor and a young society girl, who
+are forced into marriage by the will of an eccentric millionaire uncle.
+
+"Fresh, strong, and irresistibly interesting."--_New York World._
+
+"One of the most attractive novels which has appeared for a long
+time. Holds the interest breathless all the time and ends with a most
+satisfactory rush of happiness."--_Boston Globe._
+
+"A clever, fascinating love story."--_Detroit News._
+
+"Bright, exciting, and decidedly up-to-date. The characters are sharply
+drawn and well contrasted, and the background of social opulence
+well colored. It is decidedly worth reading. Sure to be a best
+seller."--_Springfield Republican._
+
+"A rattling good story. Wholesome, sweet-spirited, well planned,
+absorbing."--_Chicago Record-Herald._
+
+"Admirably constructed. Interesting episodes succeed each other and the
+frothy and clever dialogue of the fashionable butterflies of the New
+York smart set is wittily flippant and amusing. It is a capital novel.
+The real depths of human feeling are treated with fine emotional
+power."--_Philadelphia Public Ledger._
+
+"The most distinguished society novel for a long time and one of the
+most dramatic."--_Hartford Courant._
+
+"As up-to-date as the steam yacht. More than ordinarily
+pleasing."--_Brooklyn Eagle._
+
+
+ D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK
+
+
+
+
+ANOTHER CHAMBERS SUCCESS
+
+
+The Common Law
+
+     By ROBERT W. CHAMBERS, author of "The Danger Mark," "The
+     Fighting Chance," etc. Illustrated with over 50 Drawings by
+     America's foremost illustrator, Charles Dana Gibson. Cloth,
+     $1.40 net.
+
+In this new novel the author treats his readers to a splendid story of
+society and studio life in New York city. It is a novel that holds
+attention from the first, having all the interest and fascination of a
+Chambers society story, with the added charm of the gay artists' life
+in a great city with its frank camaraderie, witty small talk and
+undisguised disregard of convention.
+
+It is a great love story, concerning itself with Valerie West, a gently
+bred girl, who from a cloistered life with an invalid mother comes to
+the studio of Louis Neville, an artist of aristocratic and snobbish
+ancestry. She seeks employment as a model, and her beauty readily wins
+an audience, while her physical perfections suit the work that Neville
+has in hand, so that she is eagerly engaged.
+
+The story follows this association through a rapid progress from
+intellectual companionship, pure friendship and then fervid love. Love
+triumphant over tradition is the concluding note of the story.
+
+"Mr. Chambers has written charmingly as usual. He has a most fascinating
+manner of putting abstractions and theorizings into seemingly pulsating
+actuality, and his delineation of human emotions is so boldly and
+palpably real he is able to illustrate it with the most fantastic and
+wonderful circumstances."--_Des Moines Register-Leader._
+
+"Mr. Chambers has achieved a virtually flawless novel."--_Hartford
+Courant._
+
+
+ D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
+ NEW YORK         LONDON
+
+
+
+
+BOOKS BY W. B. MAXWELL
+
+
+Mrs. Thompson
+
+The story deals with a woman who had won for herself an enviable
+position in the business world, when she is persuaded to marry one of
+her employees, who turns out to be an adventurer. Her disappointment
+strengthens her already wonderfully strong character, and the outcome of
+the story is as amazing as it is unusual.
+
+ _12mo. Cloth, $1.30 net._
+
+
+The Rest Cure
+
+The story of a husband who is absolutely wrapped up in his business,
+devotes all his days and nights to it, allows his wife to do as she
+likes. She looks about for other companionship; suddenly they both wake
+up to the situation that the husband is ruining his life by his work and
+that the wife is ruining herself through lack of companionship with her
+husband.
+
+"The book grips like a steel trap, and only the stupid could read it
+unmoved."--_Chicago Record-Herald._
+
+ _12mo, Cloth, $1.50 net._
+
+
+Seymour Charlton
+
+The story of the love and marriage of a young English earl and the
+daughter of a shopkeeper. She does not at first succeed in her new
+position. Later, however, she becomes a great lady in every sense of the
+word, only to discover that her husband has become entangled with a
+woman of a fast life. Charlton's tardy recognition of his wife's worth
+meets no response from her. But having finally broken with the other
+woman, he starts in all over again to win his wife's love.
+
+ _Illustrated. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50._
+
+
+The Guarded Flame
+
+"In quite a different field, in a vastly different atmosphere, the
+author has come near to the master genius of Thomas Hardy. 'The Guarded
+Flame' is a work of wonderful power, but above all a work of truth. No
+novel has been written since the beginning of Hardy's literary activity
+that has more clearly approached his marvelous subtlety in the depiction
+of human nature."--_The Cleveland Plain Dealer._
+
+ _12mo. Cloth, $1.50._
+
+
+Vivien
+
+This story gives the detailed experiences of a girl who has to fight
+single-handed against the greatest dangers to which a woman can be
+exposed and to see sides of life of which her more fortunate sisters are
+kept in ignorance. It is fascinatingly written and with a clear
+understanding of human nature.
+
+ _12mo. Cloth, $1.50._
+
+
+ D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
+ NEW YORK         LONDON
+
+
+
+
+By ELINOR GLYN
+
+
+His Hour
+
+     The story of the loves of a Russian Prince and a beautiful
+     Englishwoman by the author of "Three Weeks." With frontispiece.
+     12mo. Cloth, $1.50.
+
+A young English widow of wealth and position traveling in Egypt meets a
+Russian prince of great personal charm and high rank, whose masterful
+attentions at once pique the lady's warm interest. They are companions on
+her return voyage to England, during which her emotions are further
+stirred by the varied characteristics of the young prince, and almost
+immediately she leaves for St. Petersburg to visit her godmother, a woman
+of rank and fashion, whom she had hitherto never met. In St. Petersburg
+she again meets the young prince, who is a great favorite. Love between
+them develops, but the man's assurance and frank expectations render the
+lady haughty and reserved. There are occasions, however, when she yields
+to his ardor in so far as to show that she loves him. From this point the
+author then spins a vivid and exotic love story, and one that will appeal
+to all classes of fiction readers.
+
+"A tale that many will read with bated breath."--_New York Herald._
+
+"The wild nature of the Russian prince, as well as the charmingly free
+and easy society of St. Petersburg, are admirably drawn."--_Philadelphia
+Public Ledger._
+
+
+ D. APPLETON & COMPANY, NEW YORK
+
+
+
+
+ Transcriber's Notes:
+
+ --Text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_).
+
+ --Punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected.
+
+ --Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.
+
+ --Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.
+
+ --The author's long dash style has been preserved.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The Maker of Opportunities, by George Gibbs
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MAKER OF OPPORTUNITIES ***
+
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+
+
+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Maker of Opportunities, by George Gibbs
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Maker of Opportunities
+
+Author: George Gibbs
+
+Illustrator: Edmund Frederick
+
+Release Date: January 28, 2012 [EBook #38702]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MAKER OF OPPORTUNITIES ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Donald Cummings and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was
+produced from images generously made available by The
+Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 395px;">
+<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="395" height="600" alt="cover" title="cover" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+<h1>THE MAKER OF
+OPPORTUNITIES</h1>
+
+
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+<div class="tp1">
+<p class="noic">By GEORGE GIBBS</p>
+
+<p class="noi worksbox">The Maker of Opportunities<br />
+The Forbidden Way<br />
+The Bolted Door<br />
+Tony&rsquo;s Wife<br />
+The Medusa Emerald</p>
+
+<p class="noic">D. APPLETON AND COMPANY<br />
+NEW YORK</p>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 353px;">
+<a name="image01" id="image01">
+<img src="images/image01.jpg" width="353" height="600" alt="&ldquo;But the Great Head rocks didn&rsquo;t hear.&rdquo;" title="&ldquo;But the Great Head rocks didn&rsquo;t hear.&rdquo;" /></a><br />
+<span class="caption">&ldquo;<a href="#Page_99">But the Great Head rocks didn&rsquo;t hear.</a>&rdquo;</span>
+</div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+<h1>THE MAKER OF<br />
+OPPORTUNITIES</h1>
+
+
+<p class="p4 noic">BY</p>
+
+<p class="noi author">GEORGE GIBBS</p>
+
+<p class="noi works">AUTHOR OF &ldquo;THE FORBIDDEN WAY,&rdquo;<br />
+&ldquo;THE BOLTED DOOR,&rdquo; ETC.</p>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 96px;">
+<p class="p4 noi"><img src="images/logo.jpg" width="96" height="116" alt="logo" title="logo" /></p>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="p4 noi works">ILLUSTRATED BY</p>
+
+<p class="noic">EDMUND FREDERICK</p>
+
+
+<p class="p2 noi author">NEW YORK AND LONDON<br />
+D. APPLETON AND COMPANY<br />
+1912
+</p>
+
+
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+<div class="adpage">
+<p class="noic"><span class="smcap">Copyright, 1912, by</span><br />
+D. APPLETON AND COMPANY</p>
+
+<hr class="r5" />
+<p class="noic">Copyright, 1905, by The Metropolitan Magazine Company<br />
+Copyright, 1905, 1906, by Street and Smith<br />
+Copyright, 1911, by the Red Book Corporation
+</p>
+
+<p class="p4 noi"><i>Published April, 1912</i></p>
+
+<p class="p4 noic">Printed in the United States of America</p>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<div class="adpage">
+<p class="noic lgfont">CONTENTS</p>
+<a href="#CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI</a><br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+<h2>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h2>
+
+<div class="adpage">
+<table border="0" cellpadding="5" cellspacing="0" summary="Illustrations">
+<col style="width: 80%;" />
+<col style="width: 20%;" />
+<col style="width: 20%;" />
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdl">&nbsp;</td>
+  <td class="tdl">&nbsp;</td>
+  <td class="tdrb smfont">FACING<br />PAGE</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#image01">&ldquo;But the Great Head rocks didn&rsquo;t hear.&rdquo;</a></td>
+  <td class="tdl"><i>Frontispiece</i></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">&nbsp;</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#image02">&ldquo;&lsquo;I beg pardon,&rsquo; he repeated, &lsquo;but isn&rsquo;t this yours?&rsquo;&rdquo;</a></td>
+  <td class="tdl">&nbsp;</td>
+  <td class="tdrb">66</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#image03">&ldquo;&lsquo;What a lot of vermilion you use.&rsquo;&rdquo;</a></td>
+  <td class="tdl">&nbsp;</td>
+  <td class="tdrb">142</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#image04">&ldquo;&lsquo;You are supposed to be playing the golf of the New
+Era.&rsquo;&rdquo;</a></td>
+  <td class="tdl">&nbsp;</td>
+  <td class="tdrb">256</td>
+</tr>
+</table>
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+<hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p>
+<h1>THE
+MAKER OF OPPORTUNITIES</h1>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I</h2>
+
+
+<p class="cap">It was two o&rsquo;clock. Mr. Mortimer Crabb
+pushed back the chair from his breakfast
+tray and languidly took up the
+morning paper. He had a reputation (in
+which he delighted) of dwelling in a Castle
+of Indolence, and took particular pains that
+no act of his should belie it. There were persons
+who smiled at his affectations, for he had
+a studio over a stable in one of the cross streets
+up town, where he dawdled most of his days,
+supine in his easy chair. The age was running
+to athletics, so Mr. Crabb in public
+had become the apostle and high priest of
+flaccidity. He raised a supercilious eyebrow
+at tennis, drawled his disparagement of polo
+and racquets and recoiled at the mere<span class="ispan pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span>
+mention of college football. But those
+highest in Crabb&rsquo;s favor knew that there were
+evenings when he met professional pugilists
+at this same shrine of ęstheticism, who, at
+liberal compensation, matched their skill and
+heft to his.</p>
+
+<p>Nor was he a mean antagonist in conversation.
+For Mr. Crabb had a slow and rather
+halting way of making the most trenchantly
+witty remarks, and a style exactly suited to
+the successful dinner table. And when a
+satiated society demanded something new it
+was to Crabb they turned for a suggestion.
+Mrs. Ryerson&rsquo;s Gainsborough ball, Jack Burrow&rsquo;s
+remarkable ushers&rsquo; dinner, and the pet-dog
+tea at Mrs. Jennings&rsquo; country place were
+fantasies of the mind of this Prester John
+of the effete. When to these remarkable talents
+is added a yacht and a hundred and fifty
+thousand a year, it is readily to be seen that
+Mr. Mortimer Crabb was a person of consequence,
+even in New York.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Crabb scanned the headlines of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span>
+<i>Sun</i>, while McFee fastened his boots. But
+his eye fell upon an item that made him sit
+up straight and drop his monocle.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;H&mdash;m!&rdquo; he muttered in a strange tone.
+&ldquo;So Dicky Bowles is coming home!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>He peered at the item again and read,
+frowning.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>&ldquo;Owing to the necessity for the immediate
+departure of the prospective groom for Europe,
+the marriage of Miss Juliet Hazard,
+daughter of Mr. Henry Hazard, to Mr.
+Carl Geltman will take place on Wednesday,
+June twentieth, instead of in October,
+the month at first selected.&rdquo;</p></div>
+
+<p>Crabb&rsquo;s expression had suddenly undergone
+a startling change, unknown in the Platonic
+purlieus of the Bachelors&rsquo; Club. The brows
+tangled, the lower jaw protruded, while the
+feet which had languidly emerged from the
+dressing-room a few moments before, had partaken
+suddenly of the impulses which dominated
+the entire body. He rose abruptly and
+took a few rapid turns up and down the room.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;So! They didn&rsquo;t dare wait! Poor little
+Julie! There ought to be better things in
+store for her than that! And Dicky won&rsquo;t be
+here until Thursday morning! It&rsquo;s too evident&mdash;the
+haste.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>He dropped into his chair, picked up the
+paper again, and re-read the item. June
+twentieth! And to-day was Sunday, June
+seventeenth! Geltman had taken no more
+chances than decency demanded. Crabb
+remembered the calamitous result of Hazard&rsquo;s
+ventures in Wall Street, and it was common
+gossip that, had it not been for Carl
+Geltman, the firm of Hazard and Company
+would long since have ceased to exist. It was
+easy to read between the lines of the newspaper
+paragraph. Between the ruin of her
+father&rsquo;s fortunes and her own, duty left Juliet
+Hazard no choice. And here was Dicky
+Bowles upon the ocean coming back to claim
+his own. It was monstrous.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Crabb laid aside the paper and paced
+the floor again. Then walked to the window<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span>
+and presently found himself smiling down
+upon the hansom tops.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;The very thing,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;The very
+thing. It&rsquo;s worth trying at any rate. Jepson
+will help. And what a lark!&rdquo; And then
+aloud:</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;McFee,&rdquo; he called, &ldquo;get me a hansom.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Carl Geltman sat in his office of
+chamfered oak, and smiled up at a photograph
+upon his desk, conscious of nothing but
+the dull ecstasy which suffused his ample person
+and blinded him to everything but the
+contemplation of his approaching nuptials.
+The watch-chain stretched tightly between his
+waistcoat pockets somehow conveyed the impression
+of a tension of suppressed emotions,
+which threatened to burst their confines. His
+rubicund visage exuded delight, and his short
+fingers caressed his blond mustache. It was
+difficult for him to comprehend that all of
+his ambitions were to be realized at once.
+Money, of course, would buy almost anything
+in New York, but Mr. Geltman had hardly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span>
+dared to dream of this. Until he had seen
+Miss Hazard he had never even thought of
+marriage. After he had seen her he had
+thought of nothing else.</p>
+
+<p>After working late in his office, Geltman
+dined alone at a fashionable restaurant in a
+state of beatitude, then lit his cigar and
+walked forth into Broadway for a breath of
+air before going to bed. The sooner to sleep,
+the sooner would his wedding day dawn. But
+the glare of the lights distracted him, the bells
+jangled out of harmony with his mood, so he
+sought a side street and walked on toward the
+river, where he could continue his dreams in
+quiet, until the hurrying thoroughfare was far
+behind.</p>
+
+<p>He had reached a spot between tall warehouses
+or factories when he felt himself seized
+from behind by strong arms, and before he
+could make an outcry something soft was
+thrust into his mouth and he had a dim sense
+of sudden darkness, of hands not too tender
+lifting him into a carriage, a brief whispered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span>
+order, a hurried drive, more carrying, the
+sound of lapping water and ship&rsquo;s bells, the
+throbbing of ferry paddles, the motion of a
+boat, and the damp night air of the river
+through his thin evening clothes.</p>
+
+<p>When Geltman opened his eyes it was to
+fix them rather dully upon the deck-beams of
+a yacht. The rushing water alongside sent
+rapid reflections dancing along their polished
+surfaces. At first it occurred to him that he
+was on an ocean steamer. Had he been married,
+and was this&mdash;? He looked around. No.
+He was a good sailor, but the vessel rolled and
+pitched sharply in a way to which he was unaccustomed.
+He arose to a sitting posture
+and tried to piece together the shattered remnants
+of his recollection. He felt strangely
+stupid and inert. How long had he been
+lying in the bunk? He remarked that he was
+attired very properly in pajamas&mdash;very fine
+pajamas they were, too, of silk such as he wore
+himself. Upon the leather-covered bench opposite
+was a suit of flannels carefully folded,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span>
+white canvas shoes, stockings upon the deck,
+and other unfamiliar undergarments disposed
+upon hooks by the cabin door.</p>
+
+<p>He rose suddenly, his mind dully trying to
+grasp the situation. He lurched to the porthole
+and looked out. It was a wilderness of
+amber-color and white, rather bewildering
+and terrifying seen so near at hand, for Geltman
+had been accustomed to look upon the
+ocean from the security of fifty feet of freeboard.
+Far away where the leaping wave
+crests met the line of sky, he could just distinguish
+the faint blue of the land. He was
+seized with a sudden terror and, turning, he
+ran to the cabin door and tried to open it. It
+was locked. He threw himself against it and
+cried aloud, but his voice was lost in the rush
+of wind and water without. His despairing
+eye at this moment lit upon a push-button by
+the side of the bunk. He touched it with his
+finger and anxiously waited. There was no
+sound. He sat upon the edge of the bunk,
+conscious of a cold wind blowing upon his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span>
+bare toes and of a dull ache within which proclaimed
+the lack of food or drink, or both.
+He rang again and renewed his shouting. In
+a moment there was the sound of a key in the
+lock, the door opened, and a sober, smooth-shaven
+person in brass buttons stood in the
+door.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Did you ring, sir?&rdquo; said the man, respectfully.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I did,&rdquo; said Geltman, wrathfully.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, sir,&rdquo; said the man. &ldquo;Can I get you
+anything, sir?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Can you get me&mdash;?&rdquo; began the bewildered
+Geltman. &ldquo;Is there anything you <i>can&rsquo;t</i> get
+me? Get me some food&mdash;my own clothes&mdash;and
+get me&mdash;get me&mdash;out of this. Where am
+I? What am I doing here?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You were sleeping, sir,&rdquo; said the man, imperturbably.
+&ldquo;I thought you might not wish
+to be disturbed.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Geltman looked around him again as
+though unwilling to credit the evidence of
+his senses. He saw that the man kept his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span>
+hand upon the door and eyed him narrowly.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve been drugged and shanghaied. What
+boat is this? Where are we?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;re at sea, sir,&rdquo; said the man, quietly.
+&ldquo;Off Fire Island, I believe, sir.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Fire Island,&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;and this&mdash;&rdquo; as
+memory came back with a horrible rush&mdash;&ldquo;what
+day is this?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Wednesday, June the twentieth,&rdquo; replied
+the man, calmly.</p>
+
+<p>Geltman raised his hands toward the deck
+beams and sank upon the bunk on the verge
+of collapse. He remembered now&mdash;it was his
+wedding day!</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II</h2>
+
+
+<p class="cap">As the fog upon his memory still hung
+heavily he raised his head toward the
+man at the door of the cabin. That
+person was eyeing him rather pityingly and
+had come a step forward into the room.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Shall I be getting you something, sir?&rdquo; he
+was saying again.</p>
+
+<p>Geltman sprang unsteadily to his feet.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No,&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m going to get out of
+this.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;In pajamas, sir?&rdquo; said the man, reproachfully.</p>
+
+<p>Geltman glanced down at the flimsy silk
+garment.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes&mdash;in pajamas,&rdquo; he cried, hotly. And
+with an imprecation he strode past the outraged
+servant and rushed through the saloon
+and up the companion. As he raised his head
+and shoulders above the deck he was immediately<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span>
+aware of a chill wind which was singing
+sharply through the rigging. A gentleman,
+in a double-breasted suit and yachting
+cap, was standing aft steadying a telescope toward
+a distant schooner. By his side was a
+short and very stocky man with a bushy red
+beard and brass buttons.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What is the meaning of this outrage?&rdquo; he
+cried, wildly addressing the man in the yachting
+cap. &ldquo;Are you the owner of this yacht?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The gentleman calmly lowered his telescope,
+passed it to the bearded man, turned mildly
+toward the tousled apparition and looked at
+him from top to toe while the sportive wind
+gleefully defined Geltman&rsquo;s generous figure.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I say, old man,&rdquo; he said, smiling, &ldquo;hadn&rsquo;t
+you better get into some clothes?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;C&mdash;clothes be&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; chattered Geltman.
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve been drugged, kidnapped, and shanghaied!
+Somebody&rsquo;s going to smart for this.
+Who are you? What does it mean?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The enraged brewer, with his arms waving,
+his slender garment flapping, his inflamed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span>
+countenance and ruffled hair, presented the
+wildest appearance imaginable. The man in
+the yachting cap wore an expression of commiseration
+and exchanged a significant glance
+with the red-bearded man.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;There now,&rdquo; said he, raising a protesting
+hand, &ldquo;we&rsquo;re all your friends aboard here.
+You&rsquo;re in no danger at all, except&mdash;&rdquo; he
+smiled at the brewer&rsquo;s costume&mdash;&ldquo;except from
+a bad cold.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What does this outrage mean?&rdquo; cried Geltman
+anew. &ldquo;You&rsquo;ll suffer for it. As long as
+I have a dollar left in the world&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You really don&rsquo;t mean that,&rdquo; said the
+gentleman. &ldquo;Go below now, that&rsquo;s a good
+fellow, get breakfast and some clothes.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No, I&rsquo;ll n&mdash;not,&rdquo; said the brewer in chilly
+syncopation. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m Carl Geltman, of Henry
+Geltman and Company, and I want an explanation
+of this outrage.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The two men exchanged another look, and
+the red-bearded one tapped his forehead
+twice with a blunt forefinger.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I haven&rsquo;t the least idea what you&rsquo;re talking
+about, Mr. Fehrenbach,&rdquo; said the man in
+the yachting cap, calmly.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Fehrenbach!&rdquo; cried the brewer. &ldquo;My
+name isn&rsquo;t Fehrenbach!&rdquo; he screamed. &ldquo;Otto
+Fehrenbach is on the East Side. I&rsquo;m on the
+West. My name is Geltman, I tell you!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The man in blue looked gravely down at
+the astonished brewer and pushed a bell on
+the side of the cabin skylight.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;That was one of the symptoms, Weckerly,&rdquo;
+he said aside to the man with the red
+beard.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, Doctor,&rdquo; said the other quizzically.
+&ldquo;The sea air ought to do him a lot of good.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Geltman, now bewildered, limp and very
+much alarmed, suffered himself to be led
+shivering below by the two blue-shirted sailor-men.
+There he found the steward in the
+cabin with a drink, and the blue flannels, and
+a boy laying a warm breakfast in the saloon.
+He dressed. At table he discovered an appetite
+which even his troubled spirit had not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span>
+abated. Hot coffee and a cigar completed his
+rehabilitation. His situation would have been
+an agreeable joke had it not been so tragic.
+He had learned enough to feel that he was
+powerless, that there had been some terrible
+mistake, and that the only way out of the difficulty
+was through the somewhat tortuous
+and sparsely buoyed channels of diplomacy.</p>
+
+<p>But he walked out upon deck with renewed
+confidence. It was early yet. If he could
+persuade his host of his mistake there was
+still time to run in shore where the telegraph
+might set all things right. The man in the
+yachting cap was smoking a pipe in the lee
+of the after hatch.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Will you please tell me your name?&rdquo; began
+the brewer, constrainedly.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;With all the good will in the world,&rdquo; said
+the other, rising. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m glad you&rsquo;re feeling
+better. I&rsquo;m Doctor Norman Woolf of New
+York, and this,&rdquo; indicating the red-bearded
+man, &ldquo;is Captain Weckerly of the <i>Pinta</i>.
+Captain Weckerly&mdash;Mr. Fehrenbach.&rdquo;</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Geltman started at the repetition of the
+name, but he gave no other sign.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Would you mind,&rdquo; said the brewer,
+&ldquo;telling me how I came aboard your
+boat?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Not at all,&rdquo; said Woolf, easily. &ldquo;You see,
+when I cruise on the <i>Pinta</i> I make it a point
+to leave all thought of my cases behind. But
+sometimes I break my rule, and when they
+told me of yours I made up my mind I should
+like to study you under intimate and extraordinary
+conditions and so&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Really, I don&rsquo;t quite follow&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;And so I had to bring you out to the yacht
+on which I was just starting for a little run
+over to the Azores.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;The Azores!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Dr. Woolf was smiling benignly at the unhappy
+brewer.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You know,&rdquo; he continued, &ldquo;these cases of
+aphasia have a peculiar interest for me. It
+seems such a little slipping of the cogs.
+What&rsquo;s in a name, after all? Yours is an old<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span>
+and honored one. The Fehrenbachs have
+made beer for fifty years&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a lie,&rdquo; shouted Geltman springing to
+his feet, unable longer to contain himself.
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s only thirty&mdash;and the stuff isn&rsquo;t fit to
+drink.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Pray be calm. Don&rsquo;t you know that if
+this was to get abroad, it would hurt your
+business?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;My business&mdash;the business of Geltman
+and Company&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;The business of Fehrenbach and Company,&rdquo;
+interrupted Dr. Woolf sternly.</p>
+
+<p>The unfortunate brewer with an effort contained
+himself. He knew that anger would
+avail him nothing. The only thing left was
+to listen patiently. He subsided again into
+his wicker chair and fastened his nervous gaze
+upon the distant horizon.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a pleasure to see you capable of self-control.
+If you can, I should like you to try
+and tell me how you happened to begin using
+the name of Geltman.&rdquo;</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>How had he happened to use the name of
+Geltman!</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What would you say,&rdquo; continued the Doctor,
+without awaiting the answer, &ldquo;if I were
+to tell you that I was Christopher Columbus
+and that Captain Weckerly here was Francisco
+Pizarro or Hernandez Cortes? You&rsquo;d
+say we were mistaken, wouldn&rsquo;t you? Of
+course you would. When you say that you&rsquo;re
+Geltman and we know you&rsquo;re Fehrenbach&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Stop!&rdquo; roared the unhappy brewer,
+springing to his feet. &ldquo;Stop, for the love of
+Heaven, and let me off this floating madhouse!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Calm yourself!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Calm myself! Can you not see that the
+whole thing is a terrible mistake? You have
+taken me for some one else. Last evening, I
+tell you, I was knocked down and drugged.
+Then I was carried to a boat and brought
+here. Look in my clothes, my handkerchiefs,
+my linen, you will see the monogram or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span>
+initials C. G. Will not that be enough to
+satisfy you?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;My dear sir, I assure you you were
+brought aboard in the very clothes you now
+wear. Even that cap was on your head.
+Can&rsquo;t you remember coming up the gangway
+with Captain Weckerly?&rdquo; And then, half
+aloud, and with looks of misgivings toward
+the Captain, who was shaking his head, &ldquo;He&rsquo;s
+worse than I supposed.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Geltman had taken off the yachting cap
+and there, perforated in the band, were the letters
+O. F. He searched his pockets and found
+a handkerchief with the same initials. As he
+did so he saw that the two men were looking
+at him with a expression of new interest and
+concern. His mind was still befogged. For
+the first time he really began to doubt himself,
+and the evidence of his belated memory. He
+had not heard that Otto Fehrenbach was mad.
+Was it possible that after all some dreadful
+misfortune had happened to him, Geltman?
+That a blow he had received in falling had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span>
+turned his mind, and that his soul had migrated
+to the body of the hated Fehrenbach?
+And if so, did the soul of Fehrenbach occupy
+<i>his</i> body? Fehrenbach, sitting in <i>his</i> office,
+directing <i>his</i> business with the shoddy
+methods of the Fehrenbachs, driving <i>his</i>
+horses, and perhaps&mdash;could it be that he was
+at this moment marrying Juliet Hazard in
+his place? The thought of it made him sick.
+He was dimly conscious of some science which
+dealt with these things. He had once read a
+story of a happening of this kind at a German
+university. He looked at these strangers before
+him and found himself returning in kind
+their mysterious glances. Was he mad? Or
+were they? Or were they all mad together?
+He glanced aloft at the swaying masts. And
+the yacht, too? Was it real or was that, too,
+some fantasy of a diseased imagination?
+The <i>Fliegende Holländer</i> flitted playfully
+into his mind. Just forward of the cabin a
+group of sailors were standing looking at him
+and whispering. It was uncanny. Were they,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span>
+too, in the same state as the others? It could
+not be. The vessel was real. Geltman or
+Fehrenbach&mdash;he, himself, was real. There
+must be some one aboard the accursed craft
+who would listen to him and understand. Bewildered,
+he walked forward. As he did so
+the group of sailor-men dissolved and each
+one hurried about some self-appointed task.
+He walked over to a man who was coiling a
+rope.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I say, my man,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;are you from
+New York?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, sir,&rdquo; said the man, but he looked over
+his shoulder to right and left as though seeking
+a mode of escape.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Did you ever happen to drink any of Geltman&rsquo;s
+beer?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The man gave the brewer one fleeting look,
+then dropped his coil and disappeared down
+the fo&rsquo;c&rsquo;s&rsquo;le hatch.</p>
+
+<p>The brewer watched the retreating figure
+with some dismay. He walked toward another
+man who was shining some bright work<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span>
+around the galley stovepipe. But the man
+saw him coming and vanished as the other
+had done. An old man with a gray beard sat
+on a ditty box at the lee rail, sewing a pair
+of breeches. He was chewing tobacco and
+scowling, but did not move as the landsman
+approached.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I say, my man,&rdquo; began the brewer again,
+&ldquo;did you ever drink any of Geltman&rsquo;s beer?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The old man eyed him from head to foot
+before he answered. But there was no fear
+in his face&mdash;only pity&mdash;naked and undisguised.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Naw,&rdquo; he replied, spitting to leeward.
+&ldquo;There ain&rsquo;t no beer in N&rsquo; York fer me but
+Otto Fehrenbach&rsquo;s.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Geltman looked at him a moment and then
+turned despairingly aft. The yacht was bewitched
+and they were all bewitched with
+her.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III</h2>
+
+
+<p class="cap">&ldquo;It&rsquo;s lucky Ollie Farquhar&rsquo;s fat,&rdquo; said
+Mortimer Crabb when Geltman was
+out of earshot. &ldquo;It was neat, Jepson,
+beautifully neat. Did you ever see fish take
+the bait better? But he&rsquo;ll be coming to in a
+minute.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Captain Jepson was watching the bewildered
+brewer. &ldquo;He won&rsquo;t get much information
+there,&rdquo; he grinned.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It can&rsquo;t last much longer, though,&rdquo; said
+Crabb. &ldquo;How much of a run is it to the
+coast?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;About an hour, sir.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, keep her on her course until eight
+bells. Then if he insists we&rsquo;ll run in and land
+him on the beach somewhere.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Aye, aye, sir.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It will soon be over now. He can&rsquo;t get
+in until to-morrow and then&rdquo;&mdash;Crabb beamed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span>
+with satisfaction&mdash;&ldquo;and then it&rsquo;ll be too late.
+Stow your smile, Jepson. He&rsquo;s coming back.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Not even this complete chain of circumstantial
+evidence could long avail against the
+brisk air and sunlight. In the broad expanse
+between the thumb and forefinger of his right
+hand Geltman noted the blue of some youthful
+tattooing. As he saw the familiar letters
+doubt took flight. He <i>was</i> himself. There
+was no doubt of that. As he went aft again
+he smiled triumphantly.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Let&rsquo;s be done with nonsense, Dr. Woolf,&rdquo;
+he growled. &ldquo;Look at that,&rdquo; holding his
+hand before Crabb&rsquo;s eyes. &ldquo;If I&rsquo;m Otto Fehrenbach
+how is it that the letters C. G. are
+marked in my hand?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Crabb, his arms akimbo, stood looking him
+steadily in the eyes.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;So,&rdquo; he said calmly, &ldquo;you&rsquo;re awake at
+last!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>He looked at Crabb and the Captain with
+eyes which saw not. What he had thought of
+saying and doing remained unsaid and undone.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span>
+With no other word he lurched heavily
+forward and down the companion.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;There&rsquo;ll be a hurricane in that quarter,
+Jepson, or I&rsquo;m not weather wise,&rdquo; laughed
+Crabb. &ldquo;We&rsquo;d better run in now. There
+isn&rsquo;t much sea and the wind is offshore.
+We&rsquo;ll land him at Quogue or Westhampton.
+In the meanwhile, keep the tarpaulin over the
+for&rsquo;ard boat so that he can&rsquo;t see the name on
+her. We&rsquo;ll use the gig. If he tries to peep
+over the stern we&rsquo;ll clap him in the stateroom.
+It will mean five years at least for me if he
+learns the name of the <i>Blue Wing</i>. So look
+sharp, Jepson, and keep an eye on him.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Never fear,&rdquo; said the Captain with a grin,
+and walked forward.</p>
+
+<p>Crabb walked the deck in high jubilation.
+He looked at his watch. Three o&rsquo;clock! If
+McFee had followed his instructions Dicky
+Bowles and Juliet Hazard were man and
+wife. He had nicely figured his chances. To
+Geltman he was Dr. Woolf. To his crew he
+was Mr. Crabb taking an unfortunate relative<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span>
+for an airing; to Dicky Bowles he was the
+rescuer of forlorn damsels and the trump of
+good fellows.</p>
+
+<p>Crabb was fully prepared to carry the villainy
+through to the end. Of one thing he
+was certain, the sooner his guest was off the
+<i>Blue Wing</i> and safely landed the better.</p>
+
+<p>And so, when at last Geltman came on deck
+with the watchful Weckerly at his heels,
+Crabb noted the chastened expression upon
+the brewer&rsquo;s face with singular satisfaction.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll go ashore, if you please,&rdquo; he said,
+quietly.</p>
+
+<p>Crabb affected disappointed surprise.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Here? Now?&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;We&rsquo;re pretty far
+down the coast. That&rsquo;s Quogue in there. I
+can&rsquo;t very well run back to New York, but&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Put me ashore, sir,&rdquo; said Geltman sulkily.</p>
+
+<p>When the gig was lowered, Crabb bowed
+the brewer over the side, his evening clothes
+tied in a paper package.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Good-by,&rdquo; said Crabb. &ldquo;When you&rsquo;re<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span>
+done with the flannels, Mr. Geltman, send &rsquo;em
+to Fehrenbach.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>But Geltman had no reply. He had folded
+his arms and was gazing stolidly toward the
+shore. The last glimpse Crabb had of him
+was when the <i>Blue Wing</i> drew offshore leaving
+him gesticulating wildly upon the beach in
+the glow of the setting sun.</p>
+
+<p>When the figure was but a speck in the distance
+Mortimer Crabb turned away and threw
+himself wearily in his wicker chair.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Where to now, sir?&rdquo; asked Jepson.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, anywhere you like.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Sandy Hook, sir?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, yes,&rdquo; he sighed, &ldquo;as well go there as
+anywhere else. New York, Jepson.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<hr class="tb" />
+
+<p>Poor Crabb! In twenty-four hours he was,
+if anything, more bored than ever. The sight
+of the joyous faces of Dicky Bowles and his
+bride had done something to relieve the
+<i>tedium vitę</i>, but he knew that their joy was
+of themselves and not of him, and so he gave<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span>
+them a &ldquo;God bless you&rdquo; and his country place
+on Long Island for a few weeks of honeymooning.
+He had even had the presumption
+to offer them the <i>Blue Wing</i>, but Dicky,
+whose new responsibilities had developed a
+vein of prudence, refused point blank. Crabb
+shrugged his shoulders.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Suit yourselves,&rdquo; he laughed. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s yours
+if you want it.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;And have Geltman putting you in jail?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, <i>he</i> won&rsquo;t trouble me.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;How do you know?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve made some inquiries. He&rsquo;s dropped
+the thing.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Are you sure?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, yes. He&rsquo;s not so thick-skinned as he
+looks. That story wouldn&rsquo;t look well in print,
+you know.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>With an outburst of friendship, Dicky
+threw his arms around Crabb&rsquo;s shoulders and
+gave him a bear hug.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll never forget it, Mort, never! You&rsquo;re
+the salt of the earth&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;There, there, Dicky. Salt should be taken
+in pinches, not by the spoonful, and you&rsquo;ve
+mussed my cravat! Be off with you and don&rsquo;t
+come back here until matrimony has sobered
+you into a proper sense of your new responsibilities
+to your Creator.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>From the window of his apartment Crabb
+watched Dicky&rsquo;s taxi spin up the avenue in
+the direction of the modest boarding-house
+which sheltered the waiting bride, then turned
+with a heavy sigh and rang for McFee. Love
+like that never comes to the very rich. He,
+Mortimer Crabb, was not a sentient being,
+but only a chattel, an animated bank account
+upon which designing matrons cast envious
+eyes and for which ambitious daughters laid
+their pretty snares. No, love like that was
+not for him&mdash;or ever would be, it seemed.</p>
+
+<p>His toilet made, Crabb strolled out for the
+air, wondering as he often did how the people
+on the street could smile their way through
+life, while he&mdash;&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>A hansom passed, turned just beyond and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span>
+drew up at the curb beside him, and a voice
+addressed him.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Crabb! Mortimer Crabb! By all that&rsquo;s
+lucky!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ross Burnett!&rdquo; said Crabb, gladly. &ldquo;I
+thought that you were dead. Have you
+dropped from heaven, man?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No,&rdquo; laughed Ross, &ldquo;not so far, only from
+China.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Burnett dismissed the hansom at once and
+together they went to the Bachelors&rsquo; Club
+near by, where, over a friendly glass, they
+gathered up the loose ends of their friendship.
+Crabb listened with new interest as his old
+friend gave him an account of what had happened
+in the five years which had intervened
+since they had last met, recalling piece by
+piece the unfortunate events which had led
+to his departure from New York, and Burnett,
+glad of receptive ears, rehearsed it for
+him.</p>
+
+<p>The boy had squandered his patrimony in
+Wall Street. Then by the grace of one of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span>
+senators from New York he obtained from
+the President an appointment as consular
+clerk, an office, which if it paid but little at
+home carried with it some dignity, a little authority,
+and certain appreciable perquisites in
+foreign ports.</p>
+
+<p>He had chosen wisely. At Cairo, where
+he had been sent to fill a temporary vacancy
+caused by the death of the consul general and
+subsequent illness of his deputy, he found himself
+suddenly in charge of the consular office
+in the fullest press of business, with diplomatic
+functions requiring both ingenuity and
+discretion.</p>
+
+<p>After all, it was very simple. The business
+of a consulate was child&rsquo;s play, and the usual
+phases in the life of a diplomat were to be
+requisitely met by the usages of gentility&mdash;a
+quality Burnett discovered was not too amply
+possessed by those political gentlemen who sat
+abroad in the posts of honor to represent the
+great republic.</p>
+
+<p>He thought that if he could get a post,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span>
+however small, with plenary powers, he would
+be happy. But, alas! He had been away from
+home so long that he didn&rsquo;t even know whether
+his senator was dead or alive, and when he
+reached Washington, a month or so after the
+inauguration, he realized how small were his
+chances for preferment.</p>
+
+<p>The President and Secretary of State were
+besieged daily by powerful politicians, and
+one by one the posts coveted, even the
+smallest of them, were taken by frock-coated,
+soft-hatted, flowing-tied gentlemen, whom he
+had noticed lounging and chewing tobacco in
+the Willard Hotel lobby. It was apparently
+with such persons that power took preferment.
+His roseate dreams vanished. Ross
+Burnett was a mere State Department drudge
+again at twelve hundred a year!</p>
+
+<p>He told Crabb that he had spoken to the
+chief of the diplomatic bureau in despair.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Isn&rsquo;t there any way, Crowthers?&rdquo; he had
+asked. &ldquo;Can&rsquo;t a fellow ever get any higher?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;If he had a pull, he might&mdash;but a consular<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span>
+clerk&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; The shake of Crowthers&rsquo; head
+was eloquent.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Isn&rsquo;t there anything a fellow&mdash;even a consular
+clerk&mdash;could do to win promotion in
+this service?&rdquo; he continued.</p>
+
+<p>Crowthers had looked at him quizzically.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, there&rsquo;s one thing. If you could do
+that, you might ask the Secretary for anything
+you wanted.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;And that&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Get the text of the treaty between Germany
+and China from Baron Arnim.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Crowthers had chuckled. Crabb chuckled,
+too. He thought it a very good joke. Baron
+Arnim had been the special envoy of Germany
+to China, accredited to the court of
+the Eastern potentate with the special mission
+of formulating a new and secret treaty between
+these monarchs. He was now returning
+home carrying a copy of this document in
+his baggage.</p>
+
+<p>Burnett had laughed. It <i>was</i> a good joke.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;d better send me out again,&rdquo; Burnett<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span>
+had said, hopelessly. &ldquo;Anything from
+Arakan to Zanzibar will do for me.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Crabb listened to the story with renewed
+marks of appreciation.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;So you&rsquo;ve been out and doing in the world,
+after all?&rdquo; he said, languidly, &ldquo;while we&mdash;<i>eheu
+jam satis!</i>&mdash;have glutted ourselves with
+the stale and unprofitable. How I envy you!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Burnett smoked silently. It was very easy
+to envy from the comfortable vantage ground
+of a hundred and fifty thousand a year.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Why, man, if you knew how sick of it all
+I am,&rdquo; sighed Crabb, &ldquo;you&rsquo;d thank your stars
+for the lucky dispensation that took you out
+of it. Rasselas was right. I&rsquo;ve been pursuing
+the phantoms of hope for thirty years, and I&rsquo;m
+still hopeless. There have been a few bright
+spots&rdquo;&mdash;Crabb smiled at his cigar ash&mdash;&ldquo;a
+very few, and far between.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Bored as ever, Crabb?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Immitigably. To live in the thick of
+things and see nothing but the pale drabs and
+grays. No red anywhere. Oh, for a passion<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span>
+that would burn and sear&mdash;love, hate, fear!
+I&rsquo;m forever courting them all. And here I
+am still cool, colorless and unscarred. Only
+once&rdquo;&mdash;his gray eyes lit up marvelously&mdash;&ldquo;only
+once did I learn the true relation of
+life to death, Burnett; only once. That was
+when the <i>Blue Wing</i> struggled six days in a
+hurricane with Hatteras under her lee. It
+was glorious. They may talk of love and hate
+as they will; fear, I tell you, is the Titan of
+passions.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Burnett was surprised at this unmasking.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You should try big game,&rdquo; he said, carelessly.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I have,&rdquo; said the other; &ldquo;both beasts and
+men&mdash;and here I am in flannels and a red tie!
+I&rsquo;ve skinned the one and been skinned by the
+other&mdash;to what end?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve bought experience.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cheap at any cost. You can&rsquo;t buy fear.
+Love comes in varieties at the market values.
+Hate can be bought for a song; but fear, genuine
+and amazing, is priceless&mdash;a gem which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span>
+only opportunity can provide; and how seldom
+opportunity knocks at any man&rsquo;s door!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Crabb the original&mdash;the esoteric!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes. The same. The very same. And
+you, how different! How sober and
+rounded!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>There was a silence, contemplative, retrospective
+on both their parts. Crabb broke it.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Tell me, old man,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;about your
+position. Isn&rsquo;t there any chance?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Burnett smiled a little bitterly.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m a consular clerk at twelve hundred a
+year during good behavior. When I&rsquo;ve said
+that, I&rsquo;ve said it all.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;But your future?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m not in line of promotion.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Impossible! Politics?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Exactly. I&rsquo;ve no pull to speak of.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;But your service?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve been paid for that.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Isn&rsquo;t there any other way?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, yes,&rdquo; Burnett laughed, &ldquo;that treaty.
+I happened to know something about it when<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span>
+I was out there. It has to do with neutrality,
+trade ports and coaling stations; but just what,
+the devil only knows, and his deputy, Baron
+Arnim, won&rsquo;t tell. Arnim is now in Washington,
+ostensibly sight-seeing, but really to
+confer with Von Schlichter, the ambassador
+there, about it. You see, we&rsquo;ve got rather
+more closely into the Eastern question than
+we really like, and a knowledge of Germany&rsquo;s
+attitude is immensely important to us.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Pray go on,&rdquo; drawled Crabb.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s all there is. The rest was a joke.
+Crowthers wants me to get the text of that
+treaty from Baron Arnim&rsquo;s dispatch-box.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Entertaining!&rdquo; said Crabb, with clouding
+brow. And then, after a pause, with all
+the seriousness in the world: &ldquo;And aren&rsquo;t
+you going to?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Burnett turned to look at him in surprise.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Get it. The treaty.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;The treaty! From Baron Arnim! You
+don&rsquo;t know much of diplomacy, Crabb.&rdquo;</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You misunderstood me,&rdquo; he said, coolly;
+and then, with lowered voice:</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Not from Baron Arnim&mdash;from Baron
+Arnim&rsquo;s dispatch-box.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Burnett looked at his acquaintance in a maze.
+Crabb had been thought a mystery in the old
+days. He was an enigma now.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Surely you&rsquo;re jesting.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Why? It oughtn&rsquo;t to be difficult.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Burnett looked fearfully around the room
+at their distant neighbors. &ldquo;But it&rsquo;s burglary.
+Worse than that. If I, in my connection with
+the State Department, were discovered tampering
+with the papers of a foreign government,
+it would lead to endless complications
+and, perhaps, the disruption of diplomatic relations.
+Such a thing is impossible. Its very
+impossibility was the one thing which
+prompted Crowthers&rsquo; suggestion. Can&rsquo;t you
+understand that?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Crabb was stroking his chin and contemplating
+his well-shaped boot.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Admit that it&rsquo;s impossible,&rdquo; he said calmly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span>
+&ldquo;Do you think, if by some chance you were
+enabled to give the Secretary of State this information,
+you&rsquo;d better your condition?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What is the use, Crabb?&rdquo; began Burnett.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It can&rsquo;t do any harm to answer me.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well&mdash;yes, I suppose so. If we weren&rsquo;t
+plunged immediately into war with Emperor
+William.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; Crabb was deep in thought. It was
+several moments before he went on, and then,
+as though dismissing the subject.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What are your plans, Ross? Have you a
+week to spare? How about a cruise on the
+<i>Blue Wing</i>? There&rsquo;s a lot I know that you
+don&rsquo;t, and a lot you know that I&rsquo;d like to. I&rsquo;ll
+take you up to Washington whenever you&rsquo;re
+bored. What do you say?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Ross Burnett accepted with alacrity. He
+remembered the <i>Blue Wing</i>, Jepson and Valentin&rsquo;s
+dinners. He had longed for them
+many times when he was eating spaghetti at
+Gabri&rsquo;s little restaurant in Genoa.</p>
+
+<p>When they parted it was with a consciousness<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span>
+on the part of Burnett that the affair of
+Baron Arnim had not been dismissed. The
+very thought had been madness. Was it only
+a little pleasantry of Crabb&rsquo;s? If not, what
+wild plan had entered his head? It was unlike
+the Mortimer Crabb he remembered.</p>
+
+<p>And yet there had been a deeper current
+flowing below his placid surface that gave a
+suggestion of desperate intent which nothing
+could explain away. And how illimitable
+were the possibilities if some plan could be devised
+by which the information could be obtained
+without resort to violent measures! It
+meant for him at least a post at the helm somewhere,
+or, perhaps, a secretaryship on one of
+the big commissions.</p>
+
+<p>The idea of burglary, flagrant and nefarious,
+he dismissed at a thought. Would there
+not be some way&mdash;an unguarded moment&mdash;a
+faithless servant&mdash;to give the thing the aspect
+of possible achievement? As he dressed he
+found himself thinking of the matter with
+more seriousness than it deserved.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2>
+
+
+<p class="cap">A week had passed since the two
+friends had met, and the <i>Blue Wing</i>
+now lay in the Potomac near the
+Seventh Street wharf. It was night and the
+men had dined.</p>
+
+<p>Valentin&rsquo;s dinners were a distinct achievement.
+They were of the kind which made
+conclusive the assumption of an especial
+heaven for cooks. After coffee and over a
+cigar, which made all things complete, Mortimer
+Crabb chose his psychological moment.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Burnett,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;you must see that
+treaty and copy it.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Burnett looked at him squarely. Crabb&rsquo;s
+glance never wavered.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;So you <i>did</i> mean it?&rdquo; said Burnett.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Every word. You must have it. I&rsquo;m going
+to help.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s hopeless.&rdquo;</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Perhaps. But the game is worth the candle.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;A bribe to a servant?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Leave that to me. Come, come, Ross, it&rsquo;s
+the chance of your life. Arnim, Von Schlichter
+and all the rest of them dine at the British
+embassy to-night. There&rsquo;s to be a ball afterward.
+They won&rsquo;t be back until late. We
+must get into Arnim&rsquo;s rooms at the German
+embassy. Those rooms are in the rear of the
+house. There&rsquo;s a rain spout and a back building.
+You can climb?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;To-night?&rdquo; Burnett gasped. &ldquo;You found
+out these things to-day?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Since I left you. I saw Denton Thorpe
+at the British embassy.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;And you were so sure I&rsquo;d agree! Don&rsquo;t
+you think, old man&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Hang it all, Burnett! I&rsquo;m not easily deceived.
+You&rsquo;re down on your luck; that&rsquo;s
+plain. But you&rsquo;re not beaten. Any man who
+can buck the market down to his last thousand
+the way you did doesn&rsquo;t lack sand. The end<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span>
+isn&rsquo;t an ignoble one. You&rsquo;ll be doing the Administration
+a service&mdash;and yourself. Why,
+how can you pause?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Burnett looked around at the familiar fittings
+of the saloon, at the Braun prints let
+into the woodwork, at the flying teal set in
+the azure above the wainscoting, at his immaculate
+host and at his own conventional
+black. Was this to be indeed a setting for
+Machiavellian conspiracy?</p>
+
+<p>Crabb got up from the table and opened the
+doors of a large locker under the companion.
+Burnett watched him curiously.</p>
+
+<p>Garment after garment he pulled out upon
+the deck under the glare of the cabin lamp;
+shoes, hats and caps, overcoats and clothing of
+all sizes and shapes from the braided gray
+of the coster to the velvet and sash of
+the Niēois.</p>
+
+<p>He selected a soft hat and a cap and two
+long, tattered coats of ancient cut and style
+and threw them over the back of a chair.
+Then he went to his stateroom and brought<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span>
+out a large square box of tin and placed it on
+the table.</p>
+
+<p>He first wrapped a handkerchief around
+his neck, then seated himself deliberately before
+the box, opened the lid and took out a
+tray filled with make-up sticks. These he put
+aside while he drew forth from the deeper
+recesses mustachios, whiskers and beards of
+all shapes and complexions. He worked rapidly
+and silently, watching his changing image
+in the little mirror set in the box lid.</p>
+
+<p>Burnett, fascinated, followed his skillful
+fingers as they moved back and forth, lining
+here, shading there, not as the actor does for
+an effect by the calcium, but carefully, delicately,
+with the skill of the art anatomist who
+knows the bone structure of the face and the
+pull of the aging muscles.</p>
+
+<p>In twenty minutes Mortimer Crabb had
+aged as many years, and now bore the phiz
+of a shaggy rum-sot. The long coat, soft hat
+and rough bandanna completed the character.
+The fever of the adventure had mounted in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span>
+Burnett&rsquo;s veins. He sprang to his feet with a
+reckless gesture of final resolution.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Give me my part!&rdquo; he exclaimed. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll
+play it!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The aged intemperate smiled approval.
+&ldquo;Good lad!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I thought you&rsquo;d be
+game. If you hadn&rsquo;t been I was going alone.
+It&rsquo;s lucky you&rsquo;re clean shaved. Come and be
+transfigured.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>And as he rapidly worked on Burnett&rsquo;s face
+he completed the details of his plan. Like a
+good general, Crabb disposed his plans for
+failure as well as for success.</p>
+
+<p>They would wear their disguises over their
+evening clothes. Then, if the worst came,
+vaseline and a wipe of the bandannas would
+quickly remove all guilty signs from their
+faces, they could discard their tatters, and resume
+the garb of convention.</p>
+
+<p>Ross Burnett at last rose swarthy and darkly
+mustached, lacking only the rings in his ears
+to be old Gabri himself. He was fully awakened
+to the possibilities of the adventure.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span>
+Whatever misgivings he had had were speedily
+dissipated by the blithe optimism of his
+companion.</p>
+
+<p>Crabb reached over for the brandy decanter.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;One drink,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;and we must be off.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The night was thick. A mist which had
+been gathering since sunset now turned to a
+soft drizzle of rain. Crabb, hands in pockets
+and shoulders bent, walked with a rapid and
+shambling gait up the street.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;We can&rsquo;t risk the cars or a cab in this,&rdquo;
+muttered Crabb. &ldquo;We might do it, but it&rsquo;s not
+worth the risk. Can you walk? It&rsquo;s not over
+three miles.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>It was after one o&rsquo;clock before they
+reached Highland Terrace. Without stopping
+they examined the German embassy at
+long range from the distant side of Massachusetts
+Avenue. A gas lamp sputtered dimly
+under the <i>porte-cochčre</i>. Another light
+gleamed far up in the slanting roof. Crabb
+led the way around and into the alley in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span>
+rear. It was long, badly lighted and ran the
+entire length of the block.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I got the details in the city plot-book from
+a real-estate man this afternoon. He thinks
+I&rsquo;m going to buy next door. I wanted to be
+particular about the alleys and back entrances.&rdquo;
+Crabb chuckled.</p>
+
+<p>Burnett looked along the backs of the row
+of N Street houses. They were all as stolid
+as sphinxes. Several lights at wide intervals
+burned dimly. The night was chill for the
+season, and all the windows were down. The
+occasion was propitious. The rear of the embassy
+was dark, except for a dim glow in a
+window on the second floor.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;That should be Arnim&rsquo;s room,&rdquo; said
+Crabb.</p>
+
+<p>He tried the back gate. It was unlocked.
+Noiselessly they entered, closing it after them.
+There was a rain spout, which Crabb eyed
+hopefully; but they found better luck in the
+shape of a thirty-foot ladder along the fence.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;A positive invitation,&rdquo; whispered Crabb,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span>
+joyfully. &ldquo;Here, Ross; in the shadow. Once
+on the back building the deed is done. Quiet,
+now. You hold it and I&rsquo;ll go up.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Burnett did not falter. But his hands were
+cold, and he was trembling from top to toe
+with excitement. He could not but admire
+Crabb&rsquo;s composure as he went firmly up the
+rungs.</p>
+
+<p>He saw him reach the roof and draw himself
+over the coping, and in a moment Burnett,
+less noiselessly but safely, had joined his
+fellow criminal by the window. There they
+waited a moment, listening. A cab clattered
+down Fifteenth Street, and the gongs on the
+car line clanged in reply, but that was all.</p>
+
+<p>Crabb stealthily arose and peered into the
+lighted window. It was a study. The light
+came from a lamp with a green shade. Under
+its glow upon the desk were maps and
+documents in profusion. And in the corner
+he could make out the lines of an iron-bound
+chest or box. They had made no mistake.
+Unless in the possession of Von Schlichter it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span>
+was here that the Chinese treaty would be
+found.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;All right,&rdquo; whispered Crabb. &ldquo;An old-fashioned
+padlock, too.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Crabb tried the window. It was locked.
+He took something from one of the pockets
+of his coat and reached up to the middle of
+the sash. There was a sound like the quick
+shearing of linen which sent the blood back
+to Burnett&rsquo;s heart. In the still night it seemed
+to come back manifold from the wings of the
+buildings opposite. They paused again. A
+slight crackling of broken glass, and Crabb&rsquo;s
+long fingers reached through the hole and
+turned the catch. In a moment they were in
+the room.</p>
+
+<p>The intangible and Quixotic had become a
+latter-day reality. Burnett&rsquo;s spirits rose. He
+did not lack courage, and here was a situation
+which spurred him to the utmost.</p>
+
+<p>Instinctively he closed the inside shutters
+behind him. From the alley the pair would
+not have presented an appearance which accorded<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span>
+with the quiet splendor of the room.
+He found himself peering around, his ears
+straining for the slightest sound.</p>
+
+<p>A glance revealed the dispatch-box, heavy,
+squat and phlegmatic, like its owner. Crabb
+had tiptoed over to the door of the adjoining
+room. Burnett saw the eyes dilate and the
+warning finger to his lips.</p>
+
+<p>From the inner apartment, slowly and
+regularly, came the sound of heavy breathing.
+There, in a broad armchair by the foot of the
+bed, sprawled the baron&rsquo;s valet, in stertorous
+sleep. His mouth was wide open, his limbs
+relaxed. He had heard nothing.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Quick,&rdquo; whispered Crabb; &ldquo;your bandanna
+around his legs.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Burnett surprised himself by the rapidity
+and intelligence of his collaboration. A handkerchief
+was slipped into the man&rsquo;s mouth,
+and before his eyes were fairly opened he was
+gagged and bound hand and foot by the cord
+from the baron&rsquo;s own dressing gown.</p>
+
+<p>From a pocket Crabb had produced a revolver,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span>
+which he flourished significantly under
+the nose of the terrified man, who recoiled before
+the dark look which accompanied it.</p>
+
+<p>Crabb seemed to have planned exactly what
+to do. He took a bath towel and tied it over
+the man&rsquo;s ears and under his chin. From the
+bed he took the baron&rsquo;s sheets and blankets,
+enswathing the unfortunate servant until
+nothing but the tip of his nose was visible. A
+rope of suspenders and cravats completed the
+job.</p>
+
+<p>The Baron Arnim&rsquo;s valet, to all the purposes
+of usefulness in life, was a bundled
+mummy.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Phew!&rdquo; said Crabb, when it was done.
+&ldquo;Poor devil! But it can&rsquo;t be helped. He
+mustn&rsquo;t see or know. And now for it.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Crabb produced a bunch of skeleton keys
+and an electric bull&rsquo;s-eye. He tried the keys
+rapidly. In a moment the dispatch-box was
+opened and its contents exposed to view.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Carefully now,&rdquo; whispered Crabb. &ldquo;What
+should it look like?&rdquo;</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;A foolscap-shaped thing in silk covers
+with dangling cords,&rdquo; said Ross. &ldquo;There, under
+your hand.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>In a moment they had it out and between
+them on the desk. There it was, in all truth,
+written in two columns, Chinese on the one
+side, French on the other.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Are you sure?&rdquo; said Crabb.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Sure! Sure as I&rsquo;m a thief in the night!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Then sit and write, man. Write as you
+never wrote before. I&rsquo;ll listen and watch
+Rameses the Second.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>In the twenty minutes during which Burnett
+fearfully wrote, Crabb stood listening at
+the doors and windows for sounds of servants
+or approaching carriages. The man swaddled
+in the sheets made a few futile struggles
+and then subsided. Burnett&rsquo;s eyes gleamed.
+Other eyes than his would gleam at what he
+saw and wrote. When he finished he closed
+the document, removed all traces of his work,
+replaced it in the iron box and shut the lid.
+He dropped the precious sheets into an inner<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span>
+pocket and was moving toward the window
+when Crabb seized him by the arm. There
+was a step in the hallway without, and the
+door opened. There, stout and grizzled, his
+walrus mustache bristling with surprise, in all
+the distinction of gold lace and orders, stood
+Baron Arnim.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V</h2>
+
+
+<p class="cap">For a moment there was no sound. The
+burglars looked at the Baron and the
+Baron looked at the burglars, mouths
+and eyes open alike. Then, even before Crabb
+could display his intimidating revolver, the
+German had disappeared through the door
+screaming at the top of his lungs.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Quick! Out of the window!&rdquo; said Crabb,
+helping Burnett over the sill. &ldquo;Down you
+go&mdash;I&rsquo;ll follow. Don&rsquo;t fall. If you miss your
+footing, we&rsquo;re ruined.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Burnett scrambled out, over the coping and
+down the ladder, Crabb almost on his fingers.
+But they reached the yard in safety and were
+out in the alley running in the shadow of the
+fence before a venturesome head stuck forth
+from the open window and a revolver blazed
+into the vacant air.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;The devil!&rdquo; said Crabb. &ldquo;They&rsquo;ll have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span>
+every copper in the city on us in a minute.
+This way.&rdquo; He turned into a narrow alley at
+right angles to the other. &ldquo;Off with the coat
+as you go&mdash;now, the mustache and grease
+paint. Take your time. Into this sewer with
+the coats. So!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Two gentlemen in light topcoats, one in a
+cap, the other in a hat, walked up N street
+arm in arm, thickly singing. Their shirt
+fronts and hair were rumpled, their legs were
+not too steady, and they clung affectionately
+to each other for support and sang thickly.</p>
+
+<p>A window flew up and a tousled head appeared.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Hey!&rdquo; yelled a voice. &ldquo;Burglars in the alley!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Burglars!&rdquo; said one of the singers; and
+then: &ldquo;Go to bed. You&rsquo;re drunk.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>More sounds of windows, the blowing of
+night whistles and hurrying feet.</p>
+
+<p>Still the revelers sang on.</p>
+
+<p>A stout policeman, clamorous and bellicose,
+broke in.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Did you see &rsquo;em? Did you see &rsquo;em?&rdquo; he
+cried, glaring into their faces. Bleary eyes
+returned his look.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;W-who?&rdquo; said the voices in unison.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Burglars,&rdquo; roared the copper. &ldquo;If I
+wasn&rsquo;t busy I&rsquo;d run ye in.&rdquo; And he was off
+at full speed on his vagrant mission.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Lucky you&rsquo;re busy, old chap,&rdquo; muttered
+Crabb to the departing figure. &ldquo;Do sober up
+a little, Ross, or we&rsquo;ll never get away. And
+don&rsquo;t jostle me so, for I clank like a bellwether.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Slowly the pair made their way to Thomas
+Circle and Vermont Avenue, where the
+sounds of commotion were lost in the noises
+of the night.</p>
+
+<p>At L Street Burnett straightened up.
+&ldquo;Lord!&rdquo; he gasped. &ldquo;But that was close.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Not as close as it looked,&rdquo; said Crabb,
+coolly. &ldquo;A white shirt-front does wonders
+with a copper. It was better than a knock on
+the head and a run for it. In the meanwhile,
+Ross, for the love of Heaven, help me with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span>
+some of the bric-ą-brac.&rdquo; And with that he
+handed Burnett a gold pin tray, a silver box
+and a watch fob.</p>
+
+<p>Burnett soberly examined the spoils. &ldquo;I
+only wish we could have done without
+that.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;And had Arnim know what we were driving
+for? Never, Ross. I&rsquo;ll pawn them in
+New York for as little as I can and send
+von Schlichter the tickets. Won&rsquo;t that do?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I suppose it must,&rdquo; said Burnett, dubiously.</p>
+
+<p>By three o&rsquo;clock they were on the <i>Blue
+Wing</i> again, Burnett with mingled feelings of
+doubt and satisfaction, Crabb afire with the
+achievement.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Rasselas was a fool, Ross, a malcontent&mdash;a
+<i>fainéant</i>. Life is amazing, bewitching, consummate.&rdquo;
+And then, gayly: &ldquo;Here&rsquo;s a
+health, boy&mdash;a long life to the new ambassador
+to the Court of St. James!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<hr class="tb" />
+
+<p>But Ross did not go to the Court of St.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span>
+James. In the following winter, to the surprise
+of many, the President gave him a special
+mission to prepare a trade treaty with
+Peru. Baron Arnim, in due course, recovered
+his bric-ą-brac. Meanwhile Emperor William,
+mystified at the amazing sagacity of the
+Secretary of State in the Eastern question,
+continues the building of a mighty navy in the
+fear that one day the upstart nation across the
+ocean will bring the questions complicating
+them to an issue.</p>
+
+<p>But life was no longer amusing, bewitching
+or consummate to Crabb. The flavor of
+an adventure gone from his mouth, the commonplace
+became more flat and tasteless than
+before. Life was all pale drabs and grays
+again. To make matters worse he had been
+obliged to make a business visit in Philadelphia,
+and this filled the cup of insipidity to
+the brim. He was almost ready to wish that
+his benighted forbears had never owned the
+coal mines in Pennsylvania to which he had
+fallen heir, for it seemed there were many<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span>
+matters to be settled, contracts to be signed
+and leases to be drawn by his attorney in the
+sleepy city, and it would be several days, he
+discovered, before he could get off to Newport.
+Not even the <i>Blue Wing</i> was at his
+disposal, for an accident in the engine room
+had laid her out of commission for two weeks
+at least.</p>
+
+<p>So he resigned himself to the inevitable, and
+took a room at a hotel, grimly determined to
+see the matter through, conscious meanwhile
+of a fervid hope that the unusual might happen&mdash;the
+lightning might strike. Hate he had
+known and fear, but love had so far eluded
+him. Why, he did not know, save that he
+had never been willing to perceive that emotion
+when offered in conventional forms&mdash;and
+since no other forms were possible, he had
+simply ceased to consider the matter. Yet
+marry some day, he must, of course. But
+whom? Little he dreamed how soon he would
+know. Little did Miss Patricia Wharton
+think that she had anything to do with it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span>
+In fact, Patricia&rsquo;s thoughts at that time were
+far from matrimony. Patricia was bored.
+For a month while Wharton pčre boiled out
+his gout at the sulphur springs, Patricia had
+dutifully sat and rocked, tapping a small foot
+impatiently, looking hourly less a monument
+of Patience and smiling not at all.</p>
+
+<p>At last they were in Philadelphia. Wilson
+had opened two rooms at the house and a
+speedy termination of David Wharton&rsquo;s business
+would have seen them soon at Bar Harbor.
+But something went wrong at the office
+in Chestnut Street, and Patricia, once a lamb
+and now a sheep of sacrifice, found herself at
+this particular moment doomed to another
+weary week of waiting.</p>
+
+<p>To make matters worse not a girl Patricia
+knew was in town, or if there were any the
+telephone refused to discover them. Her
+aunt&rsquo;s place was at Haverford, but she knew
+that an invitation to dinner there meant aged
+Quaker cousins and that kind of creaky informality
+which shows a need of oil at the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span>
+joints. That lubricant Patricia had no intention
+of supplying. She had rather be bored
+alone than bored in company. She found herself
+sighing for Bar Harbor as she had never
+sighed before. She pictured the cottage, cool
+and gray among the rocks, the blue bowl of
+the sea with its rim just at her window-ledge,
+the clamoring surf, and the briny smell with
+its faint suggestion of things cool and curious
+which came up newly breathed from the heart
+of the deep. She could hear &ldquo;Country Girl&rdquo;
+whinnying impatience from the stable when
+Jack Masters on &ldquo;Kentucky&rdquo; rode down from
+&ldquo;The Pinnacle&rdquo; to inquire.</p>
+
+<p>Indeed, as she walked out into the Square
+in the afternoon she found herself relapsing
+into a minute and somewhat sordid introspection.
+It was the weather, perhaps. Surely the
+dog-days had settled upon the sleepy city in
+earnest. No breath stirred the famishing
+trees, the smell of hot asphalt was in the air,
+locusts buzzed vigorously everywhere, trolley
+bells clanged out of tune, and the sun was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span>
+leaving a blood-hot trail across the sky in
+angry augury for the morrow.</p>
+
+<p>Patricia sank upon a bench, and poked viciously
+at the walk with her parasol. She experienced
+a certain grim satisfaction in being
+more than usually alone. Poor Patricia! who
+at the crooking of a finger, could have summoned
+to her side any one of five estimable
+scions of stupid, distinguished families. Only
+something new, something difficult and extraordinary
+would lift her from the hopeless
+slough of despond into which she had found
+herself precipitated.</p>
+
+<p>Andromeda awaiting Perseus on a bench in
+Rittenhouse Square! She smiled widely and
+unrestrainedly up and precisely into the face
+of Mr. Mortimer Crabb.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2>
+
+
+<p class="cap">A pleasant face it was, upon
+which, to her surprise, a smile very
+suddenly grew into being as though
+in response to her own. Patricia&rsquo;s eyes
+dropped quickly&mdash;sedately, as became those
+of a decorous woman, and yet in that brief
+second in which the eyes of the tall young
+man met hers, she had noticed that they were
+gray, as though sun-bleached, but very clear
+and sparkling. And when she raised her own
+to look quite through and beyond the opposite
+bench, her conscience refused to deny that she
+had enjoyed the looking. Were the eyes
+smiling <i>at</i>, or <i>with</i> her? In that distinction
+lay a question in morals. Was their sparkle
+quizzical or intrusive? She would have
+vowed that good humor, benevolence (if benevolence
+may be found in the eyes of two
+and thirty), and a certain polite interest were<span class="ispan pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span>
+its actual ingredients. It was all very interesting.
+She surprised herself in a not unlively
+curiosity as to his life and calling, and
+in a lack of any sort of misgiving at the <i>contretemps</i>.</p>
+
+<p>The shadows beneath the wilted trees grew
+deeper. The sun swept down into the west
+and suddenly vanished with all his train of
+gold and purple. Patricia stole a furtive look
+at her neighbor. Triumphantly she confirmed
+her diagnosis. The man was lost in the glow
+of the sunset. Importunity and he were miles
+asunder.</p>
+
+<p>It may have been that Patricia&rsquo;s eyes were
+more potent than the sunset, or that her
+triumphant deduction was based upon a false
+premise, or that the young man had been
+watching her all the while from the tail of his
+benevolent eye; for without the slightest
+warning, his head turned suddenly to find the
+eyes of the unfortunate Patricia again fixed
+upon his. However quickly she might turn
+aside, the glance exchanged was long enough<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span>
+to disclose the fact that the sparkle was still
+there and to excite a suspicion that it had
+never been dispelled. Nor did the character
+of the smile reassure her. She was not at all
+certain now that he was not smiling both <i>with</i>
+and <i>at</i> her.</p>
+
+<p>The quickly averted head, the toss of the
+chin, seemed all too inadequate to the situation;
+yet she availed herself of those bulwarks
+of maiden modesty in virtuous effort to refute
+the unconscious testimony of her unlucky eyes.
+Instinct suggested immediate flight. But
+Patricia moved not. Here indeed was a case
+where flight meant confession. She felt rather
+than saw his gaze search her from head to
+foot, and struggle as she might against it, the
+warm color raced to her cheek and brow. If
+she had enjoyed the situation a moment before,
+the impertinence, so suddenly born, filled
+her with dismay. By some subtle feminine
+process of reasoning, she succeeded in eliminating
+her share in the trifling adventure and
+now saw only the sin of the offending male.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span>
+At last she arose, the very presentment of injured
+and scornful dignity and walked, looking
+neither to the left hand nor to the right.</p>
+
+<p>There was a sound of firm, rapid footsteps
+and then a deep voice at her elbow.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I beg pardon,&rdquo; it was saying.</p>
+
+<p>The lifted straw hat, the inclined head, the
+mellow tones, the gray eyes (again benevolent),
+however unalarming in themselves,
+filled her with very real inquietude. Whatever
+he had done before, this, surely, was insupportable.
+She was about to turn away
+when her eye fell upon his extended arm and
+upon her luckless parasol.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;<a href="#image02">I beg pardon,&rdquo; he repeated, &ldquo;but isn&rsquo;t this
+yours?</a>&rdquo;</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 360px;">
+<a name="image02" id="image02">
+<img src="images/image02.jpg" width="360" height="600" alt="&ldquo;&lsquo;I beg pardon,&rsquo; he repeated, &lsquo;but isn&rsquo;t this yours?&rsquo;&rdquo;" title="&ldquo;&lsquo;I beg pardon,&rsquo; he repeated, &lsquo;but isn&rsquo;t this yours?&rsquo;&rdquo;" /></a><br />
+<span class="caption">&ldquo;&lsquo;<a href="#Page_66">I beg pardon,&rsquo; he repeated, &lsquo;but isn&rsquo;t this yours?</a>&rsquo;&rdquo;</span>
+</div>
+
+<p>The blood flew to her face again and it was
+with an embarrassment, a <i>gaucherie</i>, the like
+of which she could not remember, that she extended
+her hand toward the errant sunshade.
+No sound came from her lips; with bent head
+she took it from him. But as she walked on,
+she found that he was walking, too&mdash;with her,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span>
+directly at her side. For a moment she was
+cold with terror.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I hope you&rsquo;ll let me go along,&rdquo; he was saying
+coolly, &ldquo;I&rsquo;m really quite harmless. If you
+knew&mdash;if you only knew how dreadfully bored
+I&rsquo;ve been, you really wouldn&rsquo;t mind me at
+all.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Patricia stole a hurried glance at him, her
+fears curiously diminished.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m what the fallen call a victim of circumstances,&rdquo;
+he went on. &ldquo;I ask no worse fate
+for my dearest enemy than to be consigned
+without a friend to this wilderness of whitened
+stoops and boarded doors&mdash;to wait upon
+your city&rsquo;s demigod, Procrastination. This
+I&rsquo;ve done for forty-eight hours with a dear
+memory of a past but without a hope for the
+future. If the Fountain of Youth were to
+gush hopefully from the office water-cooler of
+my aged lawyer, he would eye it askance and
+sigh for the lees of the turbid Schuylkill.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>However she strove to lift her brows,
+Patricia was smiling now in spite of herself.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve followed the meandering tide down
+the narrow cańon you call Chestnut Street,
+watched the leisurely coal wagon and its attendant
+tail of trolleys, or sat in my hotel
+striving to dust aside the accumulating cobwebs,
+one small unquiet molecule of disconsolation.
+I&rsquo;m stranded&mdash;marooned. By comparison,
+Crusoe was gregarious.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>During this while they were walking
+north. All the way to Chestnut Street, Patricia
+was wondering whether to be most
+alarmed or amused. Of one thing she was assured,
+she was bored no longer. A sense of
+the violence done to her traditions hung like a
+millstone around her neck; and yet Patricia
+found herself peeping avidly through the
+hole to listen to the seductive voice of unconvention.</p>
+
+<p>When Patricia succeeded in summoning
+her voice, she was not quite sure that it was
+her own.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;re an impertinent person,&rdquo; she found
+herself saying.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Can&rsquo;t you forgive?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Circumstances are against me,&rdquo; he said,
+&ldquo;but I give you my word, I&rsquo;ve a place in my
+own city, a friend or two, and a certain proclivity
+for virtue.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Even if you do&mdash;speak to strange&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;But I don&rsquo;t. It was the blessed parasol.
+Otherwise I shouldn&rsquo;t have dared.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;And the proclivity for virtue&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Why, that&rsquo;s exactly the reason. Can&rsquo;t you
+see? It was you! You fairly exuded gentility.
+Come now, I&rsquo;m humility itself. I&rsquo;ve
+sinned. How can I expiate?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;By letting me go home to dinner.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Patricia was laughing this time. The man
+was looking at his watch.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What a brute I am!&rdquo; He stopped, took
+off his hat and turned away. And here it was
+that some little frivolous genius put unmeditated
+words upon Patricia&rsquo;s tongue.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m not so dreadfully hungry,&rdquo; she
+said.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>After all, he had been impertinent so very
+courteously.</p>
+
+<p>In a moment he was at her side again.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;That was kind of you. Perhaps you&rsquo;ve
+forgiven me.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;N&mdash;no,&rdquo; with rising inflection.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Come now! Let&rsquo;s be friends, just for this
+little while. Let&rsquo;s begin at once to believe
+we&rsquo;ve known each other always&mdash;just for to-night.
+I will be getting out of town to-morrow
+and we won&rsquo;t meet again. I&rsquo;m certain of
+that.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;How can I be sure?&rdquo; Patricia spoke as
+though thinking aloud.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;They&rsquo;ve promised me this time. I&rsquo;ll go
+away to-morrow. If my papers aren&rsquo;t ready
+I&rsquo;ll leave without them.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Will you give me your word?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Upon my honor.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Patricia turned for the first time and looked
+directly up at him. What value could she
+set upon the honor of one she knew not?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span>
+Whatever the feminine process of examination,
+she seemed satisfied.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What can I do? It&rsquo;s almost dusk.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I was about to suggest&mdash;er&mdash;I thought
+perhaps you might be willing to&mdash;er&mdash;go and
+have a bite&mdash;to eat&mdash;in fact, dinner.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Patricia stopped and looked up at him in
+startled abstraction. The word and its train
+of associated ideas evolved in significant fashion
+from her mental topsy-turvy. Dinner!
+With a strange man in a public place! The
+prosaic word took new and curious meanings
+unwritten upon the lexicon of her code. There
+was the tangible presentation of her sin&mdash;that
+she might read and run while there was yet
+time. How had it all happened? What had
+this insolent person said to make it possible
+for her to forget herself for so long?</p>
+
+<p>With no word of explanation her small feet
+went hurrying down the hill while his big
+ones strode protestingly alongside.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well?&rdquo; he said at last.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>But she gave him no answer and only
+walked the faster.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;re going?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Home&mdash;at once.&rdquo; She spoke with cold incisiveness.</p>
+
+<p>He walked along a few moments in silence&mdash;then
+said assertively:</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;re afraid.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>For reply she only shook her head.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s true,&rdquo; he went on. &ldquo;You&rsquo;re afraid.
+A moment ago, you were willing to forget we
+had just met. Now in a breath you&rsquo;re willing
+to forget that we&rsquo;ve met at all.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>But she would not answer.</p>
+
+<p>He glanced at the poise of the haughty
+head just below his own. Was it mock virtue?
+He felt thoroughly justified in believing
+it so.</p>
+
+<p>They had reached a corner. Patricia
+stopped.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll let me go here, won&rsquo;t you? You&rsquo;ll
+not follow me or try to find out anything, will
+you? Say you won&rsquo;t, please, please! It has<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span>
+all been a dreadful mistake&mdash;how dreadful
+I didn&rsquo;t know until&mdash;until just now. I must
+go&mdash;alone, you understand&mdash;alone&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;But it is getting dark, you&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No, no! It doesn&rsquo;t matter. I&rsquo;m not
+afraid. How can I be&mdash;now? Please let me
+go&mdash;alone. Good-by!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>And in a moment she had vanished in the
+cross street.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2>
+
+
+<p class="cap">Mortimer Crabb watched the retreating figure.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;H-m,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;the Eternal
+Question&mdash;as usual&mdash;without the answer. And
+yet I would have sworn that that parasol in
+the Square&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>He had always possessed an attitude of
+amused and tolerant patronage for the City
+of Brotherly Love&mdash;it was the birthright of
+any typical New Yorker&mdash;and yet since that
+inconsiderable adventure in Rittenhouse
+Square, he had discovered undreamed-of virtues
+in the Pennsylvania metropolis. It was a
+city not of apartments, but of homes&mdash;homes
+in which men lived with their families and
+brought up interesting children in the old-fashioned
+way&mdash;a city of conservative progress,
+of historic association, of well-guarded
+tradition&mdash;an American city, in short&mdash;which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span>
+New York was not. At the Bachelors&rsquo; Club
+he sang its praises, and mentioned a plan of
+wintering there, but was laughed at for his
+pains. Anything unusual and extraordinary
+was to be expected of Mortimer Crabb. But
+a winter in Philadelphia! This was too preposterous.</p>
+
+<p>Crabb said nothing in reply. He only
+smiled politely and when the <i>Blue Wing</i> was
+put in commission went off on a cruise with
+no other company but his thoughts and Captain
+Jepson. Jepson under ordinary circumstances
+would have been sufficient, but now
+Mortimer Crabb spent much time in a deck
+chair reading in a book of poems, or idly gazing
+at the swirl of foam in the vessel&rsquo;s wake.
+Jepson wondered what he was thinking of,
+for Crabb was not a man to spend much time
+in dreaming, and the Captain would have
+given much that he possessed to know. He
+would have been surprised if Mortimer Crabb
+had told him. To tell the truth Crabb was
+thinking&mdash;of a parasol. He was wondering<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span>
+if after all, his judgment had been erring.
+The lady in the Square had left the parasol,
+it was true. But then all the tribe of parasols
+and umbrellas seemed born to the fate of
+being neglected and forgotten, and there was
+no reason why this particular specimen of
+the genus should be exempt from the frailties
+of its kind. As he remembered, it was
+a flimsy thing of green silk and lace, obviously
+a French frippery which might be
+readily guilty of such a form of naughtiness.</p>
+
+<p>It had long worried him to think that he
+might have misjudged the sleeping princess&mdash;as
+he had learned to call her&mdash;and he knew
+that it would continue to worry him until he
+proved the matter one way or another for
+himself. Had she really forgotten the parasol?
+Or had she&mdash;not forgotten it?</p>
+
+<p>The cruise ended, the summer lengthened
+into fall, and winter found Mortimer Crabb
+established in residence at a fashionable hotel
+in Philadelphia.</p>
+
+<p>Letters had come from New York to certain<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span>
+Philadelphia dowagers in the councils of
+the mighty, to the end that in due course
+Crabb accepted for several desirable dinners,
+and before he knew he found himself in the
+full swing of a social season. And so when
+the night of the Assembly came around, he
+found himself dining at the house of one of
+his sponsors in a party wholly given over to
+the magnification of three tremulous young female
+persons, who were to receive their <i>cachet</i>
+and certificate of eligibility in attending that
+ancient and honorable function.</p>
+
+<p>It was just at the top of the steps leading
+to the foyer of the ball-room that Crabb met
+Patricia Wharton in the crowd, face to face.
+The encounter was unavoidable. He saw
+the brief question in her glance before she
+placed him, the vanishing smile, the momentary
+pallor, and then was conscious that she
+had gone by, her eyes looking past him, her
+brows slightly raised, her lips drawn together,
+the very letter of indifference and contempt.
+It was cutting advanced to the dignity of a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span>
+fine art. Crabb felt the color rise to his temples
+and heard the young bud at his side
+saying:</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What is it, Mr. Crabb? You look as if
+you&rsquo;d seen the ghost of all your past transgressions.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;<i>All</i> of them, Miss Cheston! Oh, I hope
+I don&rsquo;t look as bad as that,&rdquo; he laughed. &ldquo;Only
+one&mdash;a very tiny one.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Do tell me,&rdquo; cried the bud.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;First, let&rsquo;s safely run the gantlet of the
+lorgnons.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>When the party was assembled and past the
+grenadiers who jealously guard the sacred
+inner bulwarks, Crabb was glad to relinquish
+his companion to another, while he sought seclusion
+behind a bank of azaleas to watch the
+moving dancers. So she really <i>was</i> somebody.
+He began, for a moment, to doubt the testimony
+of the vagrant glances and the guilty
+parasol. Could he have been mistaken? Had
+she really forgotten the parasol after all? The
+situation was brutal enough for her and he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span>
+was quite prepared to respect her delicacy.
+What he did resent was the way in which she
+had done it. She had taken to cover angrily
+and stood at bay with all her woman&rsquo;s weapons
+sharpened. The curl of lip and narrowed
+eye bespoke a degree of disdain quite out of
+proportion to the offense. But he made a
+rapid resolution not to seek her or meet her
+eye. If his was the fault, it was the only reparation
+he could offer her.</p>
+
+<p>As he whirled around the room with his
+little bud, he caught a glimpse of her upon
+the opposite side and so maneuvered that he
+would come no nearer. When he had guided
+his partner to a seat, it did not take him long
+to gratify a very natural curiosity.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Will you tell me,&rdquo; he asked, &ldquo;who&mdash;no,
+don&rsquo;t look now&mdash;the girl in the black
+spangly dress is?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Who? Where?&rdquo; asked Miss Cheston.
+&ldquo;Patricia, you mean? Of course! Miss
+Wharton, my cousin. Haven&rsquo;t you met her?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Er&mdash;no! She&rsquo;s good-looking.&rdquo;</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Isn&rsquo;t she? And the dearest creature&mdash;but
+rather cold and the least bit prim.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Pri&mdash;Oh, really!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes! We&rsquo;re Quakers, you know. She belongs
+to the older set. Perhaps that&rsquo;s why she
+seems a trifle cold and&mdash;er&mdash;conventional.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Convent&mdash;! Oh, yes, of course.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You know we&rsquo;re really quite a breezy lot,
+if you only know us. Some of this year&rsquo;s debs
+are really very dreadful.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;How shocking, and Miss Wharton is not
+dreadful?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, dear, no. But she is awfully good fun.
+Come, you must meet her. Let me take you
+over.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>But good fortune in the person of Stephen
+Ventnor intervened.</p>
+
+<p>It was the unexpected which was to happen.
+Crabb was returning from the table
+with a favor. His eye ran along the line of
+chairs in a brief fruitless search. Mr. Barclay,
+who was leading the cotillion, caught
+his eye at this precise psychological moment.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Stranded, Crabb? Let me present you
+to&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>He mentioned no name but was off in a
+moment winding in and out among those on
+the floor. Crabb followed. When he had
+succeeded in eluding the imminent dancers
+and had reached the other side of the room,
+there was Barclay bending over.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Awfully nice chap&mdash;stranger,&rdquo; he was
+saying, and then aloud, &ldquo;Miss Wharton, may
+I present&mdash;Mr. Crabb?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>It was all over in a moment. The crowded
+room had hidden the black dress and the fair
+hair. But it was too late. Barclay was off
+in a second and there they were looking again
+into each other&rsquo;s eyes, Patricia pale and cold
+as stone, Crabb a trifle ill at ease at the awkward
+situation which, however appearances
+were against him, was none of his choosing.</p>
+
+<p>Crabb inclined his head and extended the
+hand which carried his favor. They both
+glanced down, seeking in that innocent trinket
+a momentary refuge from the predicament.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span>
+It was then for the first time that Crabb discovered
+the thing he was offering her&mdash;a little
+frivolous green silk parasol.</p>
+
+<p>She looked up at him again, her eyes blazing,
+but she rose to her feet and looked around
+her as though seeking some mode of escape.
+He fully expected that she would refuse to
+dance, and was preparing to withdraw as
+gracefully as he might when, with chin erect
+and eyes which looked and carried her spirit
+quite beyond him, she took the parasol and
+followed him upon the floor.</p>
+
+<p>But the subtlety of suggestion which seemed
+to possess Crabb&rsquo;s particular little comedy
+was to be still more amusingly developed.
+The figure in which they became a part was
+a pretty vari-colored whirl of flowers and
+ribbons, in which the green parasols were
+destined to play a part. For a miniature
+Maypole was brought and the parasols were
+fastened to the depending ribbons in accordance
+with their color.</p>
+
+<p>As the figure progressed and the dancers<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span>
+interwove, Crabb could not fail to note the
+recurrent intentional snub. He felt himself
+blameless in the unlucky situation, and this
+needless display of hostility so clearly expressed
+seemed made in very bad taste. Each
+time he passed the flaunted shoulder, the upcast
+chin, or curling lip, he found his humility
+to be growing less and less until as the dance
+neared its end he glowed with a very righteous
+ire. If she had meant to deny him completely,
+she should have chosen the opportunity
+when he had first come up. And as he
+passed her, he rejoiced in the discovery that
+she had inadvertently chosen the other end of
+the ribbon attached to the very parasol which
+he bore. When the May dance was over,
+Miss Wharton found Mr. Crabb at her side
+handing her the green parasol precisely as
+he had handed her that other one in the
+Square six months before.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I beg pardon,&rdquo; he was saying quizzically,
+&ldquo;but isn&rsquo;t this yours?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The accent and benevolent eye were unmistakable.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span>
+If there were any arrow in her
+quiver of scorn unshot, his effrontery completely
+disarmed her. If looks could have
+killed, Crabb must have died at once. Assured
+of the depths of his infamy, she could
+only murmur rather faintly:</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I shall go to my seat, at once, please.&rdquo; Indeed,
+Crabb was a very lively corpse. He
+was smiling coolly down at her.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Certainly, if you wish it. Only&mdash;er&mdash;I
+hope you&rsquo;ll let me go along.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>How she hated him! The words uttered
+again with the same smiling effrontery seemed
+to be burned anew into her memory. Could
+she never be free from this inevitable man?
+Her seat was at the far end of the room.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I think you have done me some injustice,&rdquo;
+he said quietly, and then, &ldquo;It has been a pleasant
+dance. Thank you so much.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; replied Patricia acidly, and
+he was gone.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2>
+
+
+<p class="cap">Miss Wharton rather crossly dismissed
+her weary maid, and threw
+herself into an armchair. Odious
+situation! Her peccadillo had found her out!
+What made the matter still worse was the ingenuous
+impeccability of her villain. On
+every hand she heard his praises sung. And
+it vexed her that she had been unable to contribute
+anything to his detriment. Of course,
+after seeing her leave the parasol it would
+have been stupid of him to&mdash;to let her forget
+it. In her thoughts that adventure had long
+since been condoned. It was this new <i>rencontre</i>
+which had so upset her. It angered
+her to think how little delicacy he gave her
+credit for when he had asked Jack Barclay
+to present him. If they had met by chance,
+it would have been different. She would have
+been sharply civil, but not retrospective; and<span class="ispan pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span>
+would have trusted to his sense of the situation
+to be the same. That he had assailed
+her helpless barriers, wrote him down a brute,
+divested him of all the garments of sensibility
+in which she had clothed him. It angered
+her to think that her fancy had seen fit to
+make him any other than he was. But mingled
+with her anger, she was surprised to discover
+disappointment, too. It was this&mdash;this
+person who shared with her the secret of her
+one iniquity.</p>
+
+<p>She pulled impatiently at her long gloves
+and arose with an air of finality. And so
+Miss Wharton put the importunate Mr.
+Crabb entirely from her mind; until the following
+Thursday night at the dinner at the
+Hollingsworths&rsquo;.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Patty, dear, have you met Mr. Crabb?&rdquo;
+Mrs. Hollingsworth was saying.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Wharton had, at the Assembly.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Crabb politely echoed; and Patricia
+hated him for the nebulous smile which
+seemed to contain hidden meanings. But she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span>
+rose to the occasion in a way which seemed
+to disconcert her companion&mdash;who only answered
+her rapid fire of commonplaces in
+monosyllables. At the table she found her
+refuge upon the other side to be an Italian
+from the embassy at Washington, whose
+French limped but whose English was a cripple.
+And so they minced and stuttered, Ollendorf
+fashion, through the oysters and soup,
+while Crabb occupied himself with the
+daughter of the house upon his other side.
+But at last Patty was aware that Mr. Crabb
+was speaking.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Miss Wharton,&rdquo; he began, &ldquo;I fear I&rsquo;ve
+been put somewhat under a cloud.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Really,&rdquo; she answered sweetly, &ldquo;how so?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>A little disconcerted but undismayed, he
+continued:</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Because of the manner of our meeting.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Our meeting!&rdquo; she said uncertainly.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;At the Assembly, you know. I thought
+perhaps that&mdash;you thought&mdash;I&rsquo;d asked to be
+presented.&rdquo;</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Didn&rsquo;t you? Then, how did we happen
+to meet?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>He could not but admire her <i>sang-froid</i>.
+She was smiling a non-committal smile at the
+centerpiece.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Er&mdash;I should explain. I was adrift and
+Barclay came to my rescue. I give you my
+word, I had no notion it was to you he was
+taking me. It was all over in a second.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Then you really didn&rsquo;t wish to meet me?
+I&rsquo;m so sorry.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>She had turned her face slowly to his and
+was looking him levelly in the eyes. It was
+a challenge, not a petition. He met her thrust
+fairly.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;My dear Miss Wharton,&rdquo; he smiled,
+&ldquo;how could I know what you were like&mdash;er&mdash;if
+I&rsquo;d never seen you?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>This time he fairly set her weapon flying.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What I wish you to understand,&rdquo; he continued,
+steadily, &ldquo;is that I didn&rsquo;t know that
+Barclay was taking me to you. I wish credit<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span>
+for a certain delicacy. I should not have
+cared to force myself upon you.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sure I shouldn&rsquo;t have minded in the
+least,&rdquo; she said, lightly. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m not so difficult
+as all that.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>As soon as she had spoken she knew she had
+overshot her mark.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s awfully good of you, you know.
+I&rsquo;m sure you&rsquo;ll admit I had no means of knowing,&rdquo;
+he added, &ldquo;how difficult you were.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>She flushed a little before returning to the
+attack.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Of course a girl wishes to know a little
+something about a man before&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Before she permits herself to misjudge
+him.&rdquo; He smiled. &ldquo;Candidly, do you feel
+in any better position to judge me now than
+you did before&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Before the Assembly?&rdquo; she interrupted.
+&ldquo;I think so. You don&rsquo;t eat with your knife,&rdquo;
+laughing. &ldquo;You&rsquo;ve a respect for the napkin.
+People say you&rsquo;re clever. Why shouldn&rsquo;t I
+believe them?&rdquo;</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;If this is your creed of morality, I&rsquo;m respectability
+itself. Can you doubt me? Why
+won&rsquo;t you be frank? If I&rsquo;m respectable why
+shouldn&rsquo;t you have cared to meet me?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m not sure I thought very much about it.
+How did you know I didn&rsquo;t wish to meet
+you?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;How could I know you did?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>She looked up at him, a new expression on
+her face.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t,&rdquo; she said quietly, &ldquo;I&mdash;I&mdash;abhorred
+the very thought of you.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Crabb looked contemplatively at his truffle.
+&ldquo;I thank you for your candor,&rdquo; he replied at
+last.</p>
+
+<p>Then after a pause, &ldquo;If you&rsquo;ll forgive me,
+I&rsquo;ll promise not to mention the subject again.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;And if I don&rsquo;t forgive you?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;re at my mercy for this hour at least,&rdquo;
+he laughed.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I can still fly to Italy,&rdquo; she replied. &ldquo;I
+could forgive you, I think, but for one thing.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>He looked the question.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;This dinner. Is it to chance that I&rsquo;m indebted
+for the&mdash;the&mdash;honor of your society?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Crabb&rsquo;s gaze had dropped to the table, but
+she had seen just such a sparkle in them once
+before. Nor when he looked at her had it
+disappeared.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You mean&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>She continued gazing at him steadily.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You mean&mdash;did I arrange it?&rdquo; he asked.</p>
+
+<p>Patricia bowed her head.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;How could I have done so?&rdquo; he urged.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Isn&rsquo;t Nick Hollingsworth an intimate
+friend of yours?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, but I fail to see&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Will you deny it?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m afraid you&rsquo;ll have to take me a little
+on faith,&rdquo; he pleaded. &ldquo;At any rate you
+will not suffer long. I&rsquo;m leaving town in a
+few days.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;For long?&rdquo; she asked politely.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;For good, I think. Won&rsquo;t you let me come
+in to see you before then?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Perhaps&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>But Mrs. Hollingsworth had cast her
+glance down the line and drawn back her
+chair.</p>
+
+<p>When the men came down into the drawing
+room, Mr. Crabb discovered that Miss
+Wharton had carefully ensconced herself in
+the center of a perimeter of skirts, which defied
+disintegration and apportionment. There
+was music and afterwards a call for carriages.
+So Mr. Crabb saw no more of Miss Wharton
+upon that night. Nor, indeed, did Patricia
+see him again. The following day he called.
+She was out. Then came a note and some
+roses. Business had called him sooner than
+he had expected. He begged to assure her of
+his distinguished consideration; would she
+forgive him now that he was gone, accept this
+new impertinence and forget all those that
+had gone before?</p>
+
+<p>Patricia accepted the impertinence; and
+for many days it filled her little white room
+with seductive odors that made his last admonition
+more difficult.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2>
+
+
+<p class="cap">The months of winter passed and
+Crabb returned not. July found
+the Whartons again at Bar Harbor.
+Patricia would go out for hours in her canoe
+or her sailboat, rejoicing with bronzed cheek
+and hardening muscles in the buffets and caresses
+of Frenchman&rsquo;s Bay. It was a very tiny
+catboat that she had learned to manage herself
+and in which she would tolerate no male
+hand at the helm except in the stiffest blows.</p>
+
+<p>One quiet afternoon, early in August, she
+was sailing alone down toward Sorrento. It
+was one of those brilliant New England days
+when every detail of water and sky shone
+clear as an amethyst. Here and there a sail
+cut a sharp yellow rhomboid from the velvet
+woods. Patricia listened idly to the lapping
+of the tiny waves and found herself thinking
+again rather uncomfortably of the one person<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span>
+who had caught her off her guard and kept
+her there. If he had only stayed in Philadelphia
+one week more, she could at least have
+retired with drums beating and colors flying.</p>
+
+<p>A sound distracted her. She looked to leeward
+under the lifting sail and on her bow,
+well out in the open off Stave Island, she
+could make out the lines of an overturned
+canoe and two figures in the water. She
+quickly loosed the sheet and shifted her helm
+and bore down rapidly upon the unfortunates.
+She could see a man bearing upon one end of
+the canoe lifting the other into the air, trying
+to get the water out; but each time he did so,
+a bull terrier dog swam to the gunwale and
+overturned it again. She sped by to leeward
+and, skilfully turning her little craft upon its
+heel, came up into the wind alongside.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;How do you do?&rdquo; said the moistful person,
+smiling.</p>
+
+<p>The hair was streaked down into his eyes.
+He hardly wondered that she didn&rsquo;t recognize
+him.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Mr. Crabb!&rdquo; she said at last, rather faintly,
+&ldquo;how did you happen&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It was the dog,&rdquo; he said cheerfully. &ldquo;I
+thought he understood canoes.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;He might have drowned you. Why, it&rsquo;s
+Jack Masters&rsquo; &lsquo;Teddy,&rsquo;&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;Here,
+Teddy, come aboard at once, sir.&rdquo; She bent
+over the low freeboard and by dint of much
+hauling managed to get him in.</p>
+
+<p>In the meantime, the catboat had drifted
+away from the canoe. Crabb had at last succeeded
+in getting in and was now bailing with
+his cap.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Won&rsquo;t you come over?&rdquo; shouted Patricia.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, I&rsquo;m all right,&rdquo; he returned. &ldquo;It was
+the dog I was worried about.&rdquo; Then for the
+first time he was aware that the paddle had
+drifted off and was now floating a hundred
+yards away.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sorry, but my paddle is adrift.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>So Patricia, amid much barking from the
+rejuvenated Teddy, came alongside again.</p>
+
+<p>There sat the bedraggled and dripping<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span>
+Crabb in three inches of water, his empty
+hands upon the gunwales, looking rather foolishly
+up at the blue eyes that were smiling
+rather whimsically down.</p>
+
+<p>She could not resist the temptation to banter
+him. Had she prayed for vengeance,
+nothing could have been sent to her sweeter
+than this.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You look rather&mdash;er&mdash;glum,&rdquo; she said.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m not,&rdquo; he replied, calmly. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve not
+been so happy in months.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What on earth is there to prevent my sailing
+off and leaving you?&rdquo; she laughed.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Nothing,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m all right. I&rsquo;ll
+swim for the paddle when I&rsquo;m rested.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Have you thought I might take that with
+me, too?&rdquo; she asked sweetly.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;All right,&rdquo; he laughed, trying to suppress
+the chattering teeth. &ldquo;Somebody&rsquo;ll be along
+presently.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t be too sure. You&rsquo;re really very
+much at my mercy.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You were not always so unkind.&rdquo;</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Mr. Crabb!&rdquo; Patricia retired in confusion
+to the tiller. &ldquo;You&rsquo;re impudent!&rdquo; She hauled
+in her sheet and the boat gathered headway.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Please, Miss Wharton, please!&rdquo; he
+shouted. But Patricia did not move from the
+tiller, and the catboat glided off. He watched
+her sail down and recover the paddle and
+then head back toward him.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Won&rsquo;t you forgive me and take me in?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I suppose I must. But I&rsquo;m sure I&rsquo;d rather
+you&rsquo;d drown. I&rsquo;m hardly in the mood for
+coals of fire.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I am, though,&rdquo; he chattered, &ldquo;for I&rsquo;m
+d&mdash;deucedly c&mdash;cold.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You don&rsquo;t deserve it. But if you were
+drowned I suppose I&rsquo;d be to blame. I
+wouldn&rsquo;t have you on my conscience again for
+anything.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Then please take me on your boat.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Will you behave yourself?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll try.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;And never again refer to&mdash;to&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Um&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Then please come in&mdash;out of the wet.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<hr class="tb" />
+
+<p>It was toward the end of August when the
+southeast wind had raised a gray and thunderous
+sea, that two persons sat under the lee
+of a rock near Great Head and watched the
+giant breakers shatter themselves to foam.
+They sat very close together, and the little
+they said was drowned in the roar of the elements.
+But they did not care. They were
+willing just to sit and watch the fruitless
+struggles of the swollen waters.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Won&rsquo;t you tell me,&rdquo; said the girl at last,
+&ldquo;about that dinner? Didn&rsquo;t you really ask
+Mrs. Hollingsworth to send you in with me?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The man looked amusedly off at the jagged
+horizon.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No, I really didn&rsquo;t,&rdquo; he said, and then,
+after a pause, with a laugh: &ldquo;but Nick did.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Whited sepulcher!&rdquo; said the girl. Another
+pause. This time the man questioned:</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;There is another thing&mdash;won&rsquo;t you tell<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span>
+me? About the parasol last summer&mdash;did
+you forget it, really&mdash;or&mdash;or&mdash;just leave it?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Mortimer!&rdquo; she cried, flushing furiously.
+&ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>But he assisted her in hiding her face, smiling
+down benevolently the while.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Really? Honestly? Truly?&rdquo; he said,
+softly.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t&mdash;I didn&rsquo;t,&rdquo; she repeated.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Didn&rsquo;t what?&rdquo; he still persevered.</p>
+
+<p>She looked up at him for a moment, flushed
+more furiously than before and sought refuge
+anew. But the muffled reply was perfectly
+distinguishable to the man.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&mdash;I&mdash;<i>didn&rsquo;t</i>&mdash;forget it.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><a href="#image01">But the Great Head rocks didn&rsquo;t hear.</a></p>
+
+<p>Thus Mortimer Crabb, having spent much
+of his time in making opportunities for other
+people, had at last succeeded in making one
+for himself.</p>
+
+<p>He had the pleasure of knowing, too, that
+he was also making one for Patty&mdash;not that
+this was Miss Wharton&rsquo;s first opportunity,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span>
+for everyone knew that her rather sedate demeanor
+concealed a capricious coquetry which
+she could no more control than she could the
+music of the spheres. But this was going to
+be a different kind of opportunity, for Crabb
+had decided that not only was she going to be
+engaged to him, but that when the time came
+she was going to marry him.</p>
+
+<p>This decision reached, he spent all of his
+time in convincing her that he was the one
+man in the world exactly suited to her protean
+moods. The sum of his possessions had
+not been made known to her, and he delighted
+in planning his surprise. So that when the
+<i>Blue Wing</i> appeared in the harbor, he invited
+her for a sail in her own catboat, calmly
+took the helm in spite of her protests, and before
+she was aware of it, had made a neat
+landing at his own gangway. Jepson poked
+his head over the side and welcomed them,
+grinning broadly, and, following Crabb&rsquo;s inviting
+gesture, Patricia went up on deck feeling
+very much like the lady who had married<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span>
+the Lord of Burleigh. Then Jepson gave
+some mysterious orders and before long she
+was reclining luxuriously in a deck chair and
+the <i>Blue Wing</i> was breasting the surges which
+showed the way to the open sea.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;All of this,&rsquo;&rdquo; quoted Crabb gayly, with a
+fine gesture which comprehended the whole
+of the North Atlantic Ocean, &ldquo;&lsquo;is mine and
+thine.&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s very nice of you to be so rich. Why
+didn&rsquo;t you tell me?&rdquo; said Patricia.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Because I had a certain pride in wanting
+you to like me for myself.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You think I would have married you for
+your money?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, yes,&rdquo; he said, promptly, &ldquo;of course
+you would. A rich man has about as much
+chance of entering the Kingdom of Romance
+as the Biblical camel has to get through the
+eye of the needle.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Why is it then that I find you so very
+much more attractive now that I&rsquo;ve found the
+<i>Blue Wing</i>?&rdquo;</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;But you found <i>me</i> first,&rdquo; he laughed.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Did I?&rdquo; archly.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;If you still doubt it, there&rsquo;s the
+parasol!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The mention of the parasol always silenced
+her.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X</h2>
+
+
+<p class="cap">That was one of many cruises,
+and the <i>Blue Wing</i> contributed not
+a little to the gayety of the waning
+days of summer at Mount Desert. It was the
+<i>Blue Wing</i>, too, that in early September
+brought the Wharton family, bag and baggage,
+southward to Philadelphia, where Mortimer
+Crabb lingered, hoping to exact a promise
+of marriage before Christmas. But Patricia
+would make no promises. She had a
+will of her own, her fiancé discovered, and
+had no humor to forego the independence of
+her spinsterhood for the responsibilities which
+awaited her. It was in this situation that
+Crabb discovered himself to be possessed of
+surprising virtues in tolerance and tact. Patricia,
+he knew, had many admirers. The
+woods at Bar Harbor had been, both figuratively
+and literally, filled with them, and<span class="ispan pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span>
+most of them had been eligible. Jack Masters,
+and Stephen Ventnor, who lived in Philadelphia,
+were still warm in pursuit of the
+fair quarry, who had not yet consented to an
+announcement of her engagement to Crabb.</p>
+
+<p>But these men caused him little anxiety.
+They were both quite young and quite callow
+and stood little chance with a cosmopolitan
+of Crabb&rsquo;s caliber. But there was another
+man of whom people spoke. His name was
+Heywood Pennington, and for three years he
+had been off a-soldiering in the Philippines.
+It had only been a boy-and-girl affair, of
+course, and most people in Philadelphia had
+forgotten it, but from his well-stored memory
+Crabb recalled at least one calf-love that
+had later grown into a veritable bull-in-the-china-shop.
+It was not that he didn&rsquo;t believe
+fully that Patricia would marry him, and it
+wasn&rsquo;t that he didn&rsquo;t believe in Patricia. It
+was only that he knew that for the first time
+in his life, his whole happiness depended upon
+that least stable but most wonderful of creatures,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span>
+the unconscious coquette. Moreover,
+Mortimer Crabb believed firmly in himself,
+and he also believed that, married to him,
+Patricia would be safely fulfilling her manifest
+destiny.</p>
+
+<p>But the Philippine soldier kept bobbing up
+into Crabb&rsquo;s background at the most inopportune
+moments: once when the soldier&rsquo;s
+name had been mentioned on the <i>Blue Wing</i>,
+and Patricia had sighed and turned her gaze
+to the horizon, again at a dinner at Bar Harbor,
+and later in Philadelphia, at the Club.
+Bit by bit Crabb had learned Heywood Pennington&rsquo;s
+history, from the wild college days,
+through his short business career to the tempestuous
+and scarcely honorable adventures
+which had led to his enlistment under a false
+name in the regular army three years ago. It
+was not a creditable history for a fellow of
+Pennington&rsquo;s antecedents, and when his name
+was mentioned, even the fellows who had
+known him longest, turned aside and dismissed
+him with a word.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The name of the soldier never passed between
+the engaged couple, and so far as Crabb
+was concerned, Mr. Pennington might never
+have existed.</p>
+
+<p>Patricia lacked nothing which the most exacting
+fiancée might require. Roses and violets
+arrived regularly at the Wharton country
+place near Haverford, and in the afternoons
+Crabb himself came in a motor car, always
+cheerful, always patient, always original and
+amusing.</p>
+
+<p>To such a wooing, placid, and ardent by
+turns, Patty yielded inevitably, and at last,
+late in September, consented to announce the
+engagement. The news was received in her
+own family circle with delighted amazement,
+for Mortimer Crabb had by this time made
+many friends in Philadelphia, and Miss
+Wharton had refused so many offers that her
+people, remembering Pennington, had decided
+that their handsome relative was destined
+to a life of single blessedness. They
+bestirred themselves at once in a round of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span>
+entertainments in her honor, the first of which
+was a lawn party and masque at her uncle
+Philip Wharton&rsquo;s country place, near Bryn
+Mawr.</p>
+
+<p>Philip Wharton never did things by halves,
+and society, back from the seashore and mountains,
+welcomed the first large entertainment
+which was to mark the beginning of the country
+life between seasons.</p>
+
+<p>The gay crowds swarmed out from the
+wide doorways, into the balmy night, liberated
+from the land of matter-of-fact into a domain
+of enchantment. Gayly caparisoned
+cavaliers, moving in the spirit of the characters
+they represented strode gallantly in the
+train of their ladies whose graceful draperies
+floated like film from white shoulders and
+caught in their silken meshes the shimmer of
+the moonbeams. Bright eyes flashed from
+slits in masks and bolder ones looked searchingly
+into them. All of the ages had assembled
+upon a common meeting ground; a cinquecento
+rubbed elbows with an American Indian,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span>
+Joan of Arc was cajoling a Crusader, a
+nun was hazarding her hope of salvation in
+flirtation with the devil, the eyes of a Puritan
+maid fell before the glances of a matador.
+Nothing had been spared in costume or
+in setting to make the picture complete. The
+music halted a moment and then swept into
+the rhythm of a waltz. A murmur of delight
+and like a change in the kaleidoscope the
+pieces all converged upon the terrace.</p>
+
+<p>It was here that a diversion occurred. A
+laugh went up from a group upon the steps
+and their glances were turned in one direction.
+Seated upon the balustrade in the glow
+of the Chinese lanterns sat a tramp, drinking
+a glass of punch from the refreshment table
+close at hand. It was a wonderful disguise
+that he wore. The shirt of some dark material,
+was stained and torn, the hat, of the
+brown, army type, was battered out of shape,
+and many holes had been bored into the
+crown. The trousers had worn to the color
+of dry grass and the boots were old, patched,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span>
+and yellow with mud and grime. In place
+of the conventional black mask, he wore a
+bandanna handkerchief tied around his brow,
+with holes for the eyes. The ends of the handkerchief
+hung to his breast and hid his features,
+but under its edges could be seen a
+brown ear and a patchy beard. As the crowd
+watched him he lifted his glass aloft solemnly
+and made the motions of drinking their
+health. There was a roar of applause. A
+whimsical arrogance in the pose of the
+squarely-made shoulders and the tilt of the
+head gave an additional interest to the somber
+figure. He looked like a drawing from
+the pages of a comic weekly, but the ostentation
+of his gesture gave him a dignity that
+made the resemblance less assured. As the
+people crowded around him and sought to
+pierce his disguise, he got down from his
+perch and strolled away into the shadows.
+When the music stopped again he was surrounded
+by a curious group, but he towered
+in their center grotesque, and inscrutable. To<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span>
+those who questioned him too closely he mumbled
+at their meddling and told them to be off.
+Then he tightened his belt and asked when
+supper would be ready.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Are you hungry?&rdquo; someone asked. He
+glared at the questioner.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What kind of a tramp would I be if I
+wasn&rsquo;t hungry?&rdquo; he growled, and those around
+him laughed again. So they took him to a
+table and fed him. He ate ravenously. They
+got him something to drink and it seemed to
+vanish down his throat without even touching
+his lips.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Isn&rsquo;t he splendid?&rdquo; said Patricia Wharton,
+who, with Mortimer Crabb, had just
+come up. &ldquo;But who&mdash;&mdash;? I can&rsquo;t think of
+anyone, and yet&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The tramp looked up at her suddenly and
+dropped his fork upon the table.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;<i>Splendid</i>,&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;That&rsquo;s me. <i>Splendid.</i>
+I sure glitter in this bunch, don&rsquo;t I?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>There was something irresistibly comic in
+the gesture with which he swept the group.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Patricia was still watching him&mdash;a puzzled
+expression in her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Who is he?&rdquo; she asked; but Crabb shook
+his head. &ldquo;I haven&rsquo;t an idea&mdash;but he <i>is</i>
+clever. And look at those boots&mdash;they&rsquo;re the
+real thing. I wouldn&rsquo;t want to try to dance
+in them, though.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The tramp drained his glass&mdash;set it down
+on the table and wiped his mouth on the back
+of his hand&mdash;rose and disappeared between
+the palms and hydrangeas into the darkness.</p>
+
+<p>For a guest in good standing the tramp
+then behaved strangely, for when he had
+reached a sheltered spot, in the bushes at the
+end of the English Garden, he sank at full
+length upon the grass and buried his head in
+his hands, groaning aloud. It was three years
+since he had seen her&mdash;three years, and yet
+she was just as he had seen her last. Time had
+touched her lightly, only caressing her playfully,
+rounding her features to matured
+beauty, while he&mdash;&mdash; A vision of camps,
+cities, skirmishes, orgies, came out of his mind<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span>
+in a disordered procession, all culminating in
+the incident which had brought him to ruin.
+Every detail of <i>that</i> at least was clear; the
+sudden rage where the bonds of patience had
+reached the snapping point&mdash;and then the
+blow. The tramp laughed outright. He
+could see now the smirk on the face of the
+drunken lieutenant as he toppled over backward
+and struck his head on the edge of the
+mahogany table. After that&mdash;irons, the
+court martial, the transport, Alcatraz, his
+chance, the friendly plank, the swim for the
+mainland, and freedom. He had never heard
+whether the man lived or died. He didn&rsquo;t
+much care. He got what was coming to him.</p>
+
+<p>The tramp was a fugitive still. He had
+walked since morning from Malvern station,
+where he had been thrown off the freight
+train on which he had worked a ride east from
+Harrisburg. At Bryn Mawr he had begged
+a meal&mdash;the irony of it had sunk into his soul&mdash;at
+the back door of a country house at which
+he had once been a welcome guest. A gossipy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span>
+chauffeur had let him into his garage for
+a rest and had given him a cigarette over
+which he had learned the recent doings in
+the neighborhood. The thought of venturing
+into Philip Wharton&rsquo;s grounds that night had
+entered his madcap brain while he lay in the
+woods along the Gulf Road, trying to make
+up his mind whether his tired feet would
+carry him the twelve miles that remained between
+him and the city.</p>
+
+<p>Why had he returned? God knew. His
+feet had dragged him onward as though impelled
+by some force beyond his power to resist.
+Now that he was near the home of his
+boyhood it seemed as if any other place in the
+world would have been better. It was so real&mdash;the
+peaceful respectability of this country&mdash;so
+like Her. And yet its very peacefulness
+and respectability angered him. Was it nothing
+to have hungered and thirsted and sweated
+that the honor of these people and that of
+others like them might be preserved? Even
+Patricia&rsquo;s blamelessness was intolerant&mdash;reproachful.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span>
+The springs of memory that had
+gushed forth just now at the sight of her
+were dried in their source. There was a dull
+ache, a sinking of the spirit that was almost
+a physical pain; but the unreasoning fever of
+the wayward boy, the wrenching fury of the
+outcast soldier were lacking, and for a long
+time he lay where he had fallen without
+moving.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2>
+
+
+<p class="cap">Patricia Wharton stood a moment
+on the edge of the terrace after
+the dance, slipped her hand into Mortimer
+Crabb&rsquo;s arm and came down upon the
+path, drawing a drapery across her white
+shoulders.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What is it?&rdquo; asked Crabb. &ldquo;You are not
+cold?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, no,&rdquo; she said quietly. &ldquo;I think I am a
+little tired.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Come,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;There&rsquo;s a beautiful
+spot&mdash;just here.&rdquo; He led her across the lawn
+and through an opening in the trees to a
+garden-bench in the shadow, a spot which
+none of the other maskers had discovered.
+Through the leafy screen they could see the
+gay figures floating like will-o&rsquo;-the-wisps
+across the golden lawn, but here they were
+quiet and unobserved. Patricia sank upon the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span>
+bench with a sigh, while Crabb sat beside
+her.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Are you happy?&rdquo; he asked after awhile.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Perfectly,&rdquo; she murmured. &ldquo;What a
+beautiful party!&rdquo; She placed her hand in his
+and moved a little closer to him, then sat listlessly,
+her eyes seeking the spaces between the
+branches where the people were. &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t
+want to grow old too soon,&rdquo; she was saying.
+&ldquo;The whole world is in short clothes to-night.
+Wouldn&rsquo;t it be good to be young forever?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Crabb smiled indulgently.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;It is good to be young.
+But isn&rsquo;t it anything to take your place in the
+world? I want you to know all a man can do
+for the woman he loves. Won&rsquo;t you let me?
+Soon?&rdquo; He bent over her and took the
+rounded arm in his strong hand. She did not
+withdraw it, but something told him a link of
+sympathy was lacking in the chain. As she
+did not reply he straightened and sat moodily
+looking before him.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t think me capricious, please,&rdquo; she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span>
+began. &ldquo;You&rsquo;re everything I can hope for&mdash;and
+yet&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;And yet?&rdquo; he repeated.</p>
+
+<p>She paused a moment, then broke in, &ldquo;Forgive
+me, won&rsquo;t you? I don&rsquo;t know what it is.
+Something has affected me strangely.&rdquo; She
+leaned against the back of the bench, rested
+her head in her hand, away from him, and
+Crabb turned jealously toward her.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You were thinking&mdash;of him&mdash;of the
+other.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Why shouldn&rsquo;t I be honest with you? I
+can&rsquo;t help it. Something has suddenly
+brought him into my mind. I was wondering&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I was wondering where he is now&mdash;to-night.
+It is so beautiful here. Everything
+has been done to make us happy. I was thinking
+that perhaps if I had written him a line
+I might have saved him some terrible trial.
+It was only a boy-and-girl affair, of course,
+but&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Patricia suddenly stopped speaking, and
+both of them turned their heads toward the
+dark bank of bushes behind them.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What was it?&rdquo; she asked.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;A dead branch falling,&rdquo; he replied.</p>
+
+<p>They listened again, but all they heard was
+the sound of the orchestra and the voices of
+the dancers.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;re teaching me a lesson in patience,&rdquo;
+Crabb began again soberly. &ldquo;I can wait, of
+course. I&rsquo;m not jealous of <i>him</i>,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I
+was only wondering how you could think of
+him at all.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t think of him&mdash;not in <i>that</i> way. I
+believe I haven&rsquo;t thought of him at all&mdash;until
+to-night. To-night, I can&rsquo;t help thinking of
+others less fortunate than ourselves. I suppose
+it&rsquo;s only the natural thing that he should suffer.
+He never seemed to get things right,
+somehow; his point of view was always askew.
+He was a wild boy&mdash;but he was human.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>She paused and clasped her hands before
+her. Crabb sat silent beside her, but his brow<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span>
+was clouded. When he spoke it was in a
+voice low and constrained.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Do you think it kind&mdash;wise to speak of
+this now?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I was thinking that perhaps if he&rsquo;d had
+a little luck&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;He might have come back to you?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Patricia turned toward him and with a swift
+movement took one of his hands in both of
+hers.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t speak in that way,&rdquo; she pleaded.
+&ldquo;You mustn&rsquo;t.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>But his fingers still refused to respond to
+her pressure.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;If I think of him at all, it is because I
+have learned how great a thing is love and
+how much the greater must be its loss. You
+know,&rdquo; she whispered, timidly, &ldquo;you know I&mdash;I
+love you.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;God bless you for that,&rdquo; he murmured.</p>
+
+<p>They were so absorbed that they did not
+hear the sound behind them&mdash;a suppressed
+moan like that of an animal in pain.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Will you forgive me?&rdquo; asked the girl, at
+last. &ldquo;It is all over now. I shall never speak
+of it again. I&rsquo;ve spoiled your evening. You
+don&rsquo;t regret?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Crabb laughed happily.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll promise to be good,&rdquo; she said, softly.
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll do whatever you ask me&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Will you marry me next month?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she murmured, &ldquo;whenever you
+wish.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>He took her in his arms and kissed her.
+They stood for some time deaf to all voices
+but those in their hearts. There was a breaking
+of tiny twigs under the trees behind them
+and a drab figure came out into the open on
+the other side and vanished into the darkness
+by the garden wall. And as they walked back
+into the house neither guessed just what had
+happened except that some new miracle,
+which, really, is very old, had happened to
+them.</p>
+
+<p>As a matter of fact, when Patricia announced
+the miracle in the form of her engagement<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span>
+to Mortimer Crabb a prayer of
+thanksgiving went up from at least three
+young women of her acquaintance. And
+though these feminine petitioners were left as
+much to their own devices as before the announcement,
+there was a certain comfort in
+knowing that she was out of the way&mdash;at
+least, that she was as much out of the way as
+it was possible for Patricia to be, bound or
+untrammeled. Jack Masters went abroad,
+Steve Ventnor actually went to work, and
+various other swains sought pastures new.</p>
+
+<p>Ross Burnett was best man and, when the
+ceremony and breakfast were over, saw the
+happy couple off upon the <i>Blue Wing</i>, for
+their long Southern cruise. They offered
+him conduct as far as Washington, whither he
+was bound, but he knew from the look in their
+eyes that he was not wanted, and with a
+promise to meet them in New York when they
+returned, he waved them a good-by from the
+pier and took up the thread of his Government
+business where it had been dropped. It<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span>
+is not often that good comes out of villainy,
+and the memory of the adventure in which
+Crabb had involved him, often troubled his
+conscience. What if some day he should meet
+Baron Arnim or Baron Arnim&rsquo;s man and
+be recognized? At the State Department
+Crowthers had asked him no questions and
+he had thought it wise not to offer explanations.
+But certain it was that to that adventure
+alone was his present prosperity directly
+due. His South American mission successfully
+concluded, he had returned to Washington
+with the assurance that other and even
+more important work awaited him. His
+point of view had changed. All he had needed
+was initiative, and, Crabb having supplied
+that deficiency, he had learned to face the
+world again with the squared shoulders of the
+man who had at last found himself. The
+world was his oyster and he would open it
+how and when he liked.</p>
+
+<p>It was this new attitude perhaps which enabled
+him to take note of the taming of Mortimer<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span>
+Crabb, for when he visited the bride
+and groom in their sumptuous house in New
+York, he discovered that Crabb had formed
+the habit of the easy-chair after dinner, and
+that the married life, which all his days he
+had professed to abhor, was the life for him.
+It took the combined efforts of Burnett and
+Patricia to dislodge him.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;s absolutely impossible,&rdquo; said Patricia.
+&ldquo;He says that he has solved the problem of
+happiness&mdash;that he has done with the world.
+It&rsquo;s so like a man,&rdquo; and she stamped her small
+foot, &ldquo;to think that marriage is the end of
+everything when&mdash;as everyone knows&mdash;it&rsquo;s
+only the beginning. He&rsquo;s getting stout already,
+and I know, I&rsquo;m positive that he is
+going to be bald. Won&rsquo;t you help me, Mr.
+Burnett?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s a dreadful prospect&mdash;Benedick, the
+married man. You only need carpet slippers
+and a cribbage-board, Mort, to make the picture
+complete. Have you stopped seeking
+opportunities?&rdquo;</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ah, yes,&rdquo; drawled Crabb, &ldquo;Patty is the
+only opportunity I ever had&mdash;at least&mdash;er&mdash;the
+only one worth embracing&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Mortimer!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;And don&rsquo;t you ever go to the Club?&rdquo;
+laughed Ross.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, no. I&rsquo;m taboo there since I lived in
+Philadelphia. Besides, I&rsquo;m not a bachelor
+any more, you know. If Patty only wouldn&rsquo;t
+insist on dragging me out&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Patricia laughed.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Twice, Ross, already this winter,&rdquo; Crabb
+continued. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s cruelty, nothing less.&rdquo; But
+the perpetrator of the outrage was smiling,
+and she leaned forward just then and laid her
+hand in that of her husband, saying with a
+laugh, &ldquo;Mort, you know we&rsquo;ll have to get
+Ross married at once.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Me?&rdquo; said Burnett, in alarm.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Of course. A bachelor only sneers at a
+Benedick when he has given up hoping&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, I say now&mdash;I&rsquo;m not so old.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Then you do hope?&rdquo;</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, no, I only wait&mdash;for a miracle.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;This isn&rsquo;t the age of miracles,&rdquo; remarked
+Patty thoughtfully, &ldquo;at least not miracles of
+that kind. How can you expect anyone to
+fall in love with you if you go on leaping from
+one end of the earth to the other. No girl
+wants to marry a kangaroo&mdash;even a diplomatic
+kangaroo.&rdquo; She paused and examined him
+with her head on one side. &ldquo;And yet you
+know you&rsquo;re passably decent looking&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, thanks!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Even distinguished&mdash;that foreign way of
+wearing your mustache is really quite fetching.
+You&rsquo;ll do, I think, with some coaching.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Will you coach me?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I object,&rdquo; interrupted Crabb, lazily.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I will. You&rsquo;re quite worth marrying&mdash;I&rsquo;m
+at least sure you wouldn&rsquo;t condemn your
+wife to her own lares and penates.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Not I. She&rsquo;d get the wanderlust&mdash;or a
+divorce.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t boast, worse vagabonds than you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span>
+have been tamed&mdash;come now, what shall she
+be&mdash;blonde or brunette?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Burnett shrugged his shoulders. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m quite
+indifferent&mdash;pigment is cheap nowadays.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Now you&rsquo;re scoffing.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Ross Burnett leaned back in his chair and
+smiled at the chandelier. Women had long
+ago been omitted from his list of possibilities.
+But Patricia was not to be denied.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Married you shall be,&rdquo; she said with the
+air of an oracle, &ldquo;and before the year is out.
+I swear it.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;But why do you want me to&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Revenge!&rdquo; she said tragically. &ldquo;You
+helped marry me to Mort.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>And the young matron was as good as her
+word, though her method may have been unusual.</p>
+
+<p>It came about in the following manner, and
+Burnett&rsquo;s brother and Miss Millicent Darrow
+were her unconscious agents. Miss
+Darrow had gone to the Academy Exhibit.
+The rooms were comfortably crowded. She<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span>
+entered conscious of a certain dignity and repose
+in the character of her surroundings.
+She brought forth her catalogue, resolutely
+opened it to the first page and in a moment was
+oblivious to the people about her. She did
+not belong to the great army &ldquo;who know what
+they like.&rdquo; She had an instinctive perception
+of the good, and found herself not a little
+amazed at the amount of masterly work by
+younger men whose names she had never
+heard. It was an unpleasant commentary
+upon the mentality and taste of the set in
+which she moved, and she was conscious of a
+sense of guilt; for was she not a reflection of
+the shortcomings of those she was so ready
+to condemn? &ldquo;The Plain&mdash;Evening&mdash;William
+Hazelton&rdquo;&mdash;a direct rendering of an upland
+field at dusk, between portraits by well-known
+men; &ldquo;Sylvia&mdash;Henry Marlow&rdquo;&mdash;a
+girl in a green bodice painted with knowledge
+and assurance.</p>
+
+<p>In another room were the things in a higher
+key&mdash;she knew them at a glance; and on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span>
+the opposite wall a full-length portrait that
+looked like a Sargent. She was puzzled at
+the color, which was different from that of
+any man she remembered. The Sargents she
+knew were grouped in another room&mdash;and yet
+there was here the force and breadth of the
+master. She experienced the same perplexity&mdash;&ldquo;Agatha&mdash;Philip
+Burnett,&rdquo; said the catalogue.
+She sank upon a bench before it and
+gave herself up to quiet rapture.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;If I were a man,&rdquo; she said at last, &ldquo;that
+is how I should wish to paint, the drawing of
+Sargent, the poetry of Whistler, the grace of
+Alexander, the color of Benson. Philip Burnett,&rdquo;
+she apostrophized, &ldquo;I&rsquo;m a Philistine.
+Forgive me.&rdquo;</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2>
+
+
+<p class="cap">It was very pleasant under the subdued
+lights from above. She followed the
+sweep of the drapery with delighted eye,
+taking an almost sensuous pleasure in the relation
+of color and the grace of the arms and
+throat&mdash;the simplicity of the modeling and
+the admirable characterization.</p>
+
+<p>She found herself repeating:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&ldquo;&lsquo;And those that were good shall be happy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">They shall sit in a golden chair;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They shall splash at a ten-league canvas<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With brushes of comet&rsquo;s hair.&rsquo;<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Philip Burnett, I wonder if you&rsquo;re good?
+You ought to be. I&rsquo;d be good if I could
+paint like that. I&rsquo;d work for an age at a
+sitting, too. How could one ever be tired
+making adagios in color? Oh!&rdquo; she sighed,
+&ldquo;how good it must be to amount to something!&rdquo;</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>A procession of agreeable, vacuous faces
+passed before the canvas, creatures of a common
+fate, garbed in the uniform of convention,
+carrying the polite weapons of Vanity
+Fair, each like the others and as uninteresting.
+The few who wore the bright chevrons of distinction
+had marched with the throng for a
+time, but had gone back to their own. She
+wondered if it would really matter if she
+never saw them again; of course, the women&mdash;but
+the men. Would she care?</p>
+
+<p>Was there not another life? It beckoned
+to her. What was Philip Burnett like?
+Could he be young and handsome as well as
+gifted? The vacuous faces vanished and in
+their place she could see this young genius&mdash;Antinous
+and Hercules combined&mdash;standing
+before this canvas living for the mere joy of
+work. Here was her answer. Was she to
+flit through enchanted gardens other people
+had planted, sipping only at the perfumed
+petals while the honey to be garnered was in
+plain sight?</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>A voice broke in just beside her:</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s convincing, but I tell you, Burnett,
+the arm&rsquo;s too long.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Perhaps. Not bad, though, for a new
+man. You know we Burnetts are an exceptional
+race.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The men moved away and the other&rsquo;s reply
+was lost in the murmur of the crowd. Miss
+Darrow turned to follow them with her eyes&mdash;what
+a big fellow he was! with an admirable
+profile, a straight nose, a waxed mustache,
+and a chin like the one on the mask of
+Brutus. Conceited, of course! All artists
+were conceited. And who was that with him&mdash;Mortimer
+Crabb? Yes, and there was the
+bride talking to the Pendergasts.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Why, Milly, dear!&rdquo; Mrs. Pendergast
+passed an incurious but observant eye over
+her acquaintance. &ldquo;I thought you were in
+Aiken. What a lovely hat! Are you going to
+the Inghams? What will you wear? Isn&rsquo;t
+it restful here?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Miss Darrow politely acquiesced and attempted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span>
+replies, but her eyes strayed toward
+the Burnett portrait.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Stunning,&rdquo; continued Mrs. Pendergast.
+&ldquo;A new man just over. Quite too clever.
+Wonderful color, isn&rsquo;t it? Like a ripe pomegranate.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Have you met him?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No. He belongs to the Westchester Burnetts,
+though. Mrs. Hopkinson. So glad. Is
+Frederick here?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The agreeable lady had made of the portion
+of the galleries in the neighborhood of
+the Burnett portrait a semblance of her own
+busy drawing-room. Other acquaintances
+came up and Miss Darrow was soon lost in
+the maze of small talk. A broad pair of
+shoulders were thrust forward into her group,
+and Miss Darrow found herself looking into
+a pair of quizzical gray eyes which were
+beaming a rather frank admiration into hers.
+&ldquo;Miss Darrow&mdash;Mr. Burnett,&rdquo; Patricia
+Crabb was saying; and Millicent Darrow was
+conscious that in a moment the new arrival<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span>
+had quietly and cleverly appropriated her
+and was taking her to the opposite side of
+the room where he found for her a Winslow
+Homer of rocks and stormy splendor.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Why is it,&rdquo; she asked, after her first enthusiasm,
+&ldquo;that the work of the artist so seldom
+suggests its creator&rsquo;s personality?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;The perversity of the human animal,&rdquo; he
+laughed. &ldquo;That&rsquo;s the system of justice of the
+great Republic of Art, Miss Darrow. If we
+lose a characteristic here, we gain it somewhere
+else. Rather a nice balance, don&rsquo;t you
+think?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You hardly look the poet, Mr. Burnett&mdash;you
+don&rsquo;t mind my saying so?&rdquo; she laughed.
+&ldquo;And if you do dream, you do it with your
+eyes very wide open.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Burnett&rsquo;s brows were tangled in bewilderment.
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m really not much given to
+dreaming. I&rsquo;m rather busy, you know.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s splendid of you. You&rsquo;ve worked
+long?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Er&mdash;yes&mdash;since I left college,&rdquo; he said,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span>
+the tangle in his brows suddenly unraveling.
+A smile now illuminated his rather whimsical
+eyes. Miss Darrow found herself laughing
+frankly into them.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Art is long&mdash;you must be at least&mdash;thirty.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Less,&rdquo; he corrected. &ldquo;Youth is my compensation
+for not being a lawyer&mdash;or a
+broker.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>She was conscious of the personal note in
+their conversation, but she made no effort to
+avoid it. This genius of less than thirty
+gave every token of sanity and good fellowship.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Who is Agatha?&rdquo; she asked suddenly.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;A&mdash;er&mdash;a friend of mine in Paris.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; she said, in confusion.</p>
+
+<p>And then:</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;The face is of the East&mdash;the Slav&mdash;did
+you choose her for that character?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Not at all. She was&mdash;er&mdash;just&mdash;just a sitter&mdash;a
+commission, you know.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;How interesting!&rdquo;</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>They had made the rounds of the room and
+were now facing the portrait again.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It was lucky to have so good a model,&rdquo; he
+continued. &ldquo;One doesn&rsquo;t always. Have you
+ever posed, Miss Darrow?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I? No, never. Father has been trying to
+get me painted this winter. But I&rsquo;ve been so
+busy&mdash;and then we&rsquo;re going South in two
+weeks&mdash;so we haven&rsquo;t been able to manage
+it.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What a pity!&rdquo; The subtle sparkle had
+died in his eyes, which from the shadow of
+their heavy lashes were regarding hers intently.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;re very kind. Would you really like
+to paint me?&rdquo; said Miss Darrow. &ldquo;Suppose
+I said you should. I want my portrait done.
+If you make me half as wonderful as Agatha,
+I shall die happy. Won&rsquo;t you come in to-morrow
+at five? We can talk it over. I must
+be going now. No, not now, to-morrow. Au
+revoir.&rdquo; She gave him her hand with a
+friendly nod, and threaded her way through<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span>
+the crowd, leaving Burnett staring at the card
+she had left in his hand.</p>
+
+<p>On the way up-town in the machine Patricia
+examined him, smiling curiously.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What a delusion you are, Ross Burnett!
+Railing in one moment at matrimony and in
+the next, tagging around like a tame bear at
+the heels of the first pretty girl that crosses
+your path.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;She <i>is</i> pretty, isn&rsquo;t she?&rdquo; he admitted,
+promptly.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;And quite the rage&mdash;this is her third season
+you know. You seemed to be getting on
+very rapidly&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, it was all a mistake,&rdquo; Burnett laughed.
+&ldquo;She thought I was an artist.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;An artist? What in the world&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m going to do her portrait&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You!&rdquo; Patricia leaned forward eagerly.
+&ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;That I&rsquo;m brother Philip&mdash;the chap that
+did the Agatha. She mistook me for him,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span>
+and she was so nice about it that I didn&rsquo;t like
+to interfere.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Crabb was lighting a cigarette.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m afraid, my dear Ross, that the East
+has sapped some of your moral fiber,&rdquo; he said.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s perfectly delightful,&rdquo; laughed Patricia.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;But Ross can&rsquo;t paint&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;d like to try,&rdquo; said Burnett.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Fiddlesticks!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Patricia said no more, but all the way home
+her face wore a smile which would not come
+off. The miracle had happened. Had she
+searched New York she could not have found
+a girl more eminently suited to Ross Burnett.
+That night Mortimer had some writing to
+do, but Patricia and her guest sat for a long
+while talking earnestly in the library. They
+didn&rsquo;t take Mortimer into their confidence,
+for Patricia had now gleefully donned the
+mantle her husband had so carelessly thrown
+aside. Here was an opportunity to make, and
+Patricia became the goddess in the machine.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h2>
+
+
+<p class="cap">Several days passed. Ross Burnett
+moved about the studio adjusting a
+canvas upon an easel, bringing out
+draperies, raising and lowering curtains, and
+peering into drawers and chests in a manner
+which betrayed an uncertain state of mind.
+At last he seemed to find what he was looking
+for&mdash;a drapery of soft gray material. This
+he cast over the back of the easel, walked
+back from it to the far side of the room where
+he put his head on one side and looked with
+half-closed eyes.</p>
+
+<p>There was a clatter of the old French
+knocker. Burnett dropped his paint tubes
+and cigarette and opened the door.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Am I late?&rdquo; laughed Miss Darrow.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You couldn&rsquo;t come too early,&rdquo; said Burnett.
+But he dubiously eyed the French maid
+who had entered bearing a huge portmanteau.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I was so afraid to keep you waiting. You&rsquo;re
+not very angry?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sure I&rsquo;ve been here since dawn,&rdquo; he
+replied.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Then let&rsquo;s not waste any time. Oh, isn&rsquo;t
+it charming! Where shall I go?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>He pushed open the door of the dressing
+room.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I think you&rsquo;ll find the mirror fair,&rdquo; he
+said. &ldquo;If there&rsquo;s anything&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;How exciting! No. And I&rsquo;ll be out in
+a jiffy.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>When the door was closed Burnett eyed
+the model-throne, the draperies, the chair,
+and the canvas, seeking a last inspiration before
+the imminent moment. He put a Japanese
+screen behind the chair and threw a scarlet
+drapery over one end of it, knocking at the
+rebellious folds to make them fall as he
+wished.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Will I do?&rdquo; asked the girl, radiantly
+emerging. She wore a black evening dress.
+The maid had thrown a filmy drapery over<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span>
+her which brought out the dull whiteness of
+the shoulders. &ldquo;It is so different in the daytime,&rdquo;
+she said, coloring; &ldquo;but father has always
+wanted it so. You know I haven&rsquo;t told
+him. It&rsquo;s to be a surprise.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Burnett&rsquo;s color responded to hers. He
+bowed his head. &ldquo;You are charming,&rdquo; he
+murmured gallantly with a seriousness she
+could not fail to notice.</p>
+
+<p>When Julie was dismissed to return at
+luncheon-time, Mr. Burnett conducted Miss
+Darrow to her throne and took his place before
+the canvas. She stood leaning easily upon
+the back of the chair, the lines of her slender
+figure sweeping down from the radiant
+head and shoulders into the dusky shadows
+behind her. She watched him curiously as
+he stood away from the easel to study the
+pose.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;If I only could&mdash;it&rsquo;s splendid so,&rdquo; he was
+murmuring, &ldquo;but I wish you to sit.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>She acquiesced without question. &ldquo;I feel
+like a specimen,&rdquo; she sighed. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s a terrible<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span>
+ordeal. I&rsquo;m all arms and hands. <i>Must</i> you
+squint?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>In Burnett&rsquo;s laugh all restraint was liberated
+to the winds.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Of course. All artists squint. It&rsquo;s like the
+circular sweep of the thumb&mdash;a symbol of the
+craft.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>He walked behind her and adjusted the
+screen, taking away the crimson drapery
+and putting a greyish-green one in its
+place.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;There,&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;just as you are. It&rsquo;s
+stunning.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>She was leaning forward with an elbow
+on the chair arm, her hands clasped, one
+slender wrist at her chin.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Really! You&rsquo;re awfully easy to please&mdash;I
+wonder if I shall do as well as Agatha.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>He took up a charcoal&mdash;looked at its end,
+and made a slight adjustment of the easel.
+&ldquo;Before we begin&mdash;there&rsquo;s one thing I forgot.&rdquo;
+He paused. &ldquo;All painters are sensitive,
+you know. I&rsquo;m rather queerer than most. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span>
+hope you won&rsquo;t care.&rdquo; The charcoal was now
+making rapid gyrations upon the surface of
+the canvas. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m awfully sensitive to criticism&mdash;in
+the early stages. I usually manage
+to pull out somehow&mdash;but in the beginning&mdash;when
+I&rsquo;m drawing, laying in the figure&mdash;I
+don&rsquo;t like my canvas seen. Sometimes it lasts
+even longer. You won&rsquo;t mind not looking,
+will you?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I see. That&rsquo;s what the grey thing is for.
+I don&rsquo;t mind in the least; only I hope it will
+come soon. I&rsquo;m wild to see. And please
+smoke. I know you want to.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The grateful Burnett drew forth his cigarette-case
+and while his model rested busied
+himself among his tubes of paint, squeezing
+the colors out upon the palette.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;If you only knew,&rdquo; he sighed, &ldquo;how very
+difficult it seems.&rdquo; But the large brush dipped
+into the paint and Burnett worked vigorously,
+a fine light glowing in his eyes. Miss Darrow
+watched the generous flow from the oil cup
+mingling with the colors.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;<a href="#image03">What a lot of vermilion you use!</a>&rdquo;</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 387px;">
+<a name="image03" id="image03">
+<img src="images/image03.jpg" width="387" height="600" alt="&ldquo;&lsquo;What a lot of vermilion you use.&rsquo;&rdquo;" title="&ldquo;&lsquo;What a lot of vermilion you use.&rsquo;&rdquo;" /></a><br />
+<span class="caption">&ldquo;&lsquo;<a href="#Page_143">What a lot of vermilion you use.</a>&rsquo;&rdquo;</span>
+</div>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Hair,&rdquo; he replied. He seemed so absorbed
+that she said no more, and she didn&rsquo;t know
+whether to laugh or frown. Later she ventured:</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;If it&rsquo;s carroty I&rsquo;ll never speak to you again.
+Please make it auburn, Mr. Burnett.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>He only worked the more rapidly. He
+seemed to be dipping into every color upon
+the palette, in the center of which had grown
+a brown of the color of walnut-juice. This
+he was applying vigorously to the lower part
+of the canvas. When the palette was cleared
+he put it aside and sank back in a chair with
+a sigh.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Rest,&rdquo; said the artist.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m not in the least tired,&rdquo; she replied.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;But <i>I</i> am. It takes it out of me to be so
+interested.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Does it?&rdquo; She leaned back in her chair,
+regarding him with a new curiosity. &ldquo;Do you
+know,&rdquo; she added, &ldquo;you are full of surprises&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>She ignored the inquiry of his upraised
+brows.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;&mdash;&mdash;and paint,&rdquo; she finished with a laugh.</p>
+
+<p>He ruefully eyed a discolored thumb. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m
+awfully untidy, I know. I&rsquo;ve always been.
+In Paris they called me Slovenly Peter.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I shouldn&rsquo;t say that&mdash;only&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Only&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; she indicated several streaks
+of black on his grey walking-suit. &ldquo;Must one
+always pay such a price to inspiration?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Jove! That <i>was</i> stupid. I always do,
+though, Miss Darrow.&rdquo; He examined the
+spots and touched them with the tips of his
+fingers. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s paint,&rdquo; he finished, examining
+it with a placidity almost impersonal. &ldquo;It
+doesn&rsquo;t matter in the least.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;And do you always smudge your face?&rdquo;
+she asked sweetly. He looked at himself in
+the mirror. There was a broad streak of red
+across his forehead. He wiped it off with a
+handkerchief.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, please don&rsquo;t laugh.&rdquo;</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>He sank upon the edge of the throne, and
+then they both laughed joyously, naturally,
+like two children.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m an awfully lucky fellow,&rdquo; he said, at
+last. &ldquo;I feel like a feudal baron with a captured
+princess. Here are you, that most inaccessible
+of persons, the Woman of Society,
+doomed every morning for two weeks to play
+Darby and Joan with a man you&rsquo;ve known
+only three days. How on earth can a fellow
+survive seeing a girl he likes behind cups of
+tea! It&rsquo;s rough, I think. Society seems to accomplish
+every purpose but its avowed one.
+Instead of which everybody plays puss-in-the-corner.
+A fellow might have a chance if the
+corners weren&rsquo;t so far apart. And I, just back
+from abroad with all the skeins of old friendship
+at a loose end, walk into your circle and
+quietly appropriate you for a fortnight&mdash;while
+your other friends go a-begging.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;They haven&rsquo;t begged very hard,&rdquo; she
+laughed. &ldquo;If they had, perhaps they might
+be playing Darby and Joan, too. I&rsquo;ve never<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span>
+tried it before. But I think it&rsquo;s rather
+nice&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; She broke off suddenly.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Do you know, I&rsquo;ve rested <i>quite</i> twenty
+minutes,&rdquo; she said after a moment. &ldquo;Come,
+time is precious.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;That depends&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>She waited a moment for him to finish, but
+he said no more.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;How extraordinary!&rdquo; she said with a
+pretty <i>mouė</i>. &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know whether I should
+be pleased or not.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Can you blame me? The Forelock of
+Time hangs too temptingly,&rdquo; he laughed. &ldquo;Of
+course, if you&rsquo;d rather pose&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; He took
+up his dripping brushes with a sigh.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, indeed, I don&rsquo;t care,&rdquo; she sank back
+in the chair. &ldquo;Only don&rsquo;t you think&mdash;isn&rsquo;t
+that really what I&rsquo;m here for?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It is time to pose, Miss Darrow,&rdquo; he said
+determinately.</p>
+
+<p>But she made no move to get into the position.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I haven&rsquo;t complained,&rdquo; and she smiled at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span>
+him. &ldquo;Your muse is difficult, and I&rsquo;m the
+gainer. Really, I think I&rsquo;d rather talk.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;And I&rsquo;m waiting to go on with the portrait.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll pose again on one condition&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;That you put on overalls.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The brushes and palette dropped to his side.
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s rough on Slovenly Peter,&rdquo; he
+laughed. He set about squeezing the paint
+tubes, wiping the brush handles and edge of
+the palette. When the pose was over Julie
+appeared. The artist drew the grey drapery
+over the easel and helped Miss Darrow to
+descend.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV</h2>
+
+
+<p class="cap">These mornings in the studio were
+full of subtleties. Miss Darrow
+discovered that Burnett could talk
+upon many subjects. He had traveled much
+in Europe, and could even draw a bold outline
+for her of the East, which she had never
+seen. He talked little of art, and then only
+when the subject was introduced by his model.
+In the rests, which were long, he led Miss
+Darrow, often without her being aware of it,
+down pleasant lanes of thought, all of which
+seemed to end abruptly in the garish sunshine
+of personality. She did not find it unpleasant;
+only it seemed rather surprising the way all
+formality between them had been banished.</p>
+
+<p>One morning there was a diversion. A
+clatter on the knocker and Burnett, frowning,
+went to the door. Miss Darrow heard a feminine
+voice and an exclamation. Burnett went<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span>
+rather hurriedly and stood outside, his hand
+upon the door knob. There was a murmur of
+conversation and a feminine laugh. She tried
+not to hear what was said. The hand fidgeted
+on the knob, but the murmur of voices continued.
+Miss Darrow got down from the
+throne and moved to the window, adjusting a
+stray curl as she passed.</p>
+
+<p>She looked away from the mirror, then
+stopped suddenly and looked again. When
+Burnett entered she was sitting in the window-seat,
+looking out over the roof-tops. He was
+profuse in apology. She resumed the pose
+and the artist painted silently. &ldquo;They say
+there&rsquo;s a pleasure in painting that only a
+painter knows,&rdquo; she began.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Of course.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Then why do we rest so often? I&rsquo;m not
+easily deceived. The fine frenzy is lacking,
+Mr. Burnett&mdash;isn&rsquo;t it so?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>For reply he held out his paint-smudged
+hands.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No&mdash;no,&rdquo; she went on. &ldquo;You&rsquo;re painting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span>
+timidly with the tips of your fingers&mdash;not in
+the least like the &lsquo;Agatha.&rsquo; I&rsquo;m sure you&rsquo;re
+doing me early-Victorian.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Burnett stopped painting, looked at his canvas
+and laughed. &ldquo;Oh, it&rsquo;s hardly that,&rdquo; he
+said.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Won&rsquo;t you prove it?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;How?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;By letting me look.&rdquo; She rose from her
+chair, got down from the throne and took a
+rapid step or two towards the easel. But Burnett&rsquo;s
+broad shoulders barred the way.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Please,&rdquo; she urged.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t, really.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Why not?&rdquo; She stood her ground firmly,
+looking up into his face, but Burnett did not
+move or reply.</p>
+
+<p>She settled into the pose again and Burnett
+went mechanically to his place before the canvas.
+Once it seemed as if he were about to
+speak&mdash;but he thought better of it. He looked
+down at the mass of color mingled on the
+palette. His brush moved slowly on the canvas.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span>
+At last it stopped and dropped to his
+side.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t go on.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>She dropped out of the pose. &ldquo;Are you
+ill?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, no,&rdquo; he laughed. With the setting
+aside of the brushes and palette, Burnett
+seemed to put away the shadow that had been
+hanging over his thoughts all the morning.
+He stood beside her and was looking frankly
+into her eyes. She saw something in his that
+had not been there before, for she looked
+away, past the chimneys and apartment
+houses, past the clouds, and into the void that
+was beyond the blue. She had forgotten his
+presence, and one of her hands which he held
+in both of his.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Perhaps you understand,&rdquo; he said quietly.
+&ldquo;Perhaps you know.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The fingers moved slightly, but on the
+brows a tiny frown was gathering. He relinquished
+her hand with a sigh and stood
+looking rather helplessly in the direction of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span>
+the mute and pitiless easel. They were so
+deep in thought that neither of them heard
+the turning of a skeleton key in the latch and
+the opening of the door. The Japanese screen
+for a moment concealed them from the view
+of a gentleman who emerged into the room.
+Ross Burnett looked up helplessly. It was
+Mortimer Crabb, horror-stricken at this violation
+of his sanctum.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ross!&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;what on earth&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Miss Darrow started from her chair, the
+crimson rushing to her cheeks, and stood
+drawing the lace across her shoulders.</p>
+
+<p>Burnett was cool. &ldquo;Miss Darrow,&rdquo; he
+asked, &ldquo;you know Mr. Crabb? He&rsquo;s studying
+painting, and&mdash;er&mdash;sometimes uses this
+place. Perhaps&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The words hung on his lips as he realized
+that Miss Darrow with an inclination of the
+head toward the visitor, had vanished into the
+dressing-room.</p>
+
+<p>As the door closed words less polite came
+forth.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>But Crabb broke in: &ldquo;Oh, I say, Ross, you
+don&rsquo;t mean you&rsquo;ve had the nerve&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Ross Burnett&rsquo;s brows drew together and his
+large frame seemed to grow compact.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Hush, Mort,&rdquo; he whispered. &ldquo;You don&rsquo;t
+understand. You&rsquo;ve made an awful mess of
+things. Won&rsquo;t you go?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;But, my dear chap&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll explain later. But go&mdash;please!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>With a glance toward the easel Mortimer
+Crabb went out.</p>
+
+<p>Ross Burnett closed the door, shot its bolt
+and put his back against it. As the clatter of
+Crabb&rsquo;s boots on the wooden stairs died away
+on the lower floor, he gave a sigh, folded his
+arms and waited.</p>
+
+<p>When Miss Darrow emerged from the
+dressing-room ready for the street, she found
+him there.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;My things are in the portmanteau,&rdquo; she
+said, icily. &ldquo;My maid will call for them. If
+you will permit me&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>But Burnett did not move.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Miss Darrow&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; he began.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Will you let me pass?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t, Miss Darrow&mdash;until you hear. I
+wouldn&rsquo;t have had it happen for anything in
+the world.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I cannot listen. Won&rsquo;t you open the
+door?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>He bowed his head as though better to
+receive her reproaches, but he did not
+move.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; she cried, &ldquo;how could you!&rdquo; Her
+chin was raised, and she glanced scornfully at
+him from under her narrowed lids.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Please,&rdquo; he pleaded, quietly. &ldquo;If you&rsquo;ll
+only listen&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>She turned and walked towards the window.
+&ldquo;Isn&rsquo;t it punishment enough for it all
+to end like this,&rdquo; he went on, &ldquo;without making
+it seem as though I were worse than I am?
+Really, I&rsquo;m not as bad as I&rsquo;m painted.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>It was an unfortunate phrase. An awkward
+silence followed it, in which he was
+conscious that Miss Darrow had turned suddenly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span>
+from the window and was facing the
+Thing upon the easel, which was now revealed
+to them both in all its uncompromising
+ugliness. From the center of a myriad
+of streaks of paint something emerged.
+Something in dull tones, staring like a Gorgon
+from its muddy illusiveness. To Burnett
+it had been only a canvas daubed with infelicitous
+paint. Now from across the room
+it seemed to have put on a smug and scurrilous
+personality and odiously leered at him
+from its unlovely background.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t,&rdquo; cried Burnett. &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t look at
+the thing like that.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>But the girl did not move. She stood before
+the easel, her head a little on one side,
+her eyes upon the canvas.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s really not Victorian, is it?&rdquo; she asked
+calmly.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You <i>must</i> listen!&rdquo; cried Burnett, leaving
+his post at the door. &ldquo;I insist. You know
+why I did this mad thing. I&rsquo;ve told you. I&rsquo;d
+do it again&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve no doubt you will,&rdquo; she put in scornfully.
+&ldquo;It doesn&rsquo;t seem to have been so difficult.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It was. The hardest thing I&rsquo;ve ever done
+in my life. You gave me the chance. I took
+it. I won&rsquo;t regret it. It was selfish&mdash;brutal&mdash;anything
+you like. But I don&rsquo;t regret&mdash;nine
+wonderful mornings, twenty-seven precious
+hours&mdash;more, I hope, than you&rsquo;ve given
+any man in your life.&rdquo; He made one rapid
+stride and took her in his arms. &ldquo;I love you,
+Millicent, dear. I&rsquo;ve loved you from the
+first moment&mdash;there in the picture gallery.
+Yes, I&rsquo;d do it again. Every moment I&rsquo;ve
+blessed the luck that made it possible. Don&rsquo;t
+turn away from me. You don&rsquo;t hate me. I
+know it. You couldn&rsquo;t help feeling a response
+to a love like mine.&rdquo; He held her
+close to him, raising her head at last until
+her lips were level with his own. But he did
+not touch them. She still struggled faintly,
+but she would not open her eyes and look at
+him.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No, no, you mustn&rsquo;t,&rdquo; was all that she
+found strength to say.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You can&rsquo;t deny it. You do&mdash;care for
+me. Look up at me and tell me so.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>She would not look at him and at last
+struggled away and stood, her cheeks flaming.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You are masterful!&rdquo; she stammered. &ldquo;A
+girl is not to be won in this fashion.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I love you,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;And you&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I despise you,&rdquo; she gasped. She turned
+to the mirror, and rearranged her disordered
+hair.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t say that. Won&rsquo;t you forgive me?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>She sank on the model stand and buried
+her face in her hands. &ldquo;It was cruel of you&mdash;cruel.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The sight of her distress unnerved him and
+gave him for the first time a new view of the
+enormity of his offense. It was her pride that
+was wounded. It was the thought of what
+Mortimer Crabb might think of her that
+had wrought the damage. He bent over her,
+his fingers nearly touching her, yet restrained<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span>
+by a delicacy and a new tenderness begotten
+by the thought that it was he alone who had
+caused her unhappiness.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Forgive me,&rdquo; he whispered. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m sorry.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>And she only repeated. &ldquo;What can he
+think of me? What can he think?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Burnett straightened, a new thought coming
+to him. It seemed like an inspiration&mdash;a
+stroke of genius.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Of course,&rdquo; he said, calmly, &ldquo;you&rsquo;re hopelessly
+compromised. He must think what he
+pleases. There&rsquo;s only one thing to do.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>She arose and breathlessly asked, &ldquo;What
+<i>can</i> I do? How can I&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Marry me&mdash;at once.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>She spoke the word slowly&mdash;wonderingly&mdash;as
+if the idea had never occurred to her before.
+He had left the way to the door unguarded,
+but instead she walked toward the
+window, and looked out over the roof-tops.
+To Burnett the silence was burdened with
+meaning, and he broke it timorously.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Won&rsquo;t you&mdash;won&rsquo;t you, Millicent, dear?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Her voice trembled a little when she replied:
+&ldquo;There is one thing more important
+than that&mdash;than anything else in the world
+to me.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>At her side his eyes questioned mutely.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;And that?&rdquo; he asked at last.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;My reputation,&rdquo; she whispered.</p>
+
+<p>He stood a second studying her face, for
+his happiness grew upon him slowly. But
+behind the crooked smile which was half-hidden
+from him, he caught the dawn of a
+new light that he understood. He took her
+in his arms then, and wondered how it was
+that he had not kissed her when her lips had
+been so close before. But the new wonder
+that came to them both made them willing
+to forget that there had ever been anything
+else before.</p>
+
+<p>Later, Ross, unable to credit his good fortune
+and marveling at the intricacies of the
+feminine mind, asked her a question. Her
+reply caused him more amazement:</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Poor, foolish, Slovenly Peter! I saw it by
+accident in the mirror a week ago.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>So it was Mortimer Crabb after all who
+made the opportunity; for Miss Darrow
+smilingly admitted that had it not been for
+his abrupt entrance at that precise psychological
+moment, she should now have been in
+Aiken and Ross on the way to the Antipodes.
+But Patricia was doubly happy; for had
+she not circumvented her own husband in
+opening the studio he had forsworn, the
+veritable chamber of Bluebeard which had
+been bolted against her? Had she not
+browsed away among the gods of his youth to
+her heart&rsquo;s content and made that sacred
+apartment the vestibule of Paradise for at
+least two discontented mortals whose hearts
+were now beating as one?</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV</h2>
+
+
+<p class="cap">After this first success, Patricia was
+filled with the spirit of altruism, and
+winter and summer went out upon
+the highways and byways seeking the raw
+material for her fateful loom. She was Puck,
+Portia and Patricia all rolled into one. There
+were Stephen Ventnor and Jack Masters, whom
+she still saw occasionally, but they only sighed
+and even refused to dine at the Castle of Enchantment.
+She thought sometimes of Heywood
+Pennington, too, and often found herself
+wondering how the world was faring
+with him, hoping that some day chance would
+throw him in her way. The old romance
+was dead, of course. But what an opportunity
+for regeneration!</p>
+
+<p>Meantime she had much to do in keeping
+up her establishment, many friends to make
+in New York, many social duties to perform.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span>
+She spent much time with her husband over
+the plans of the country place he was building
+on Long Island, which was to be ready
+for occupancy late in the following spring.
+Mortimer Crabb had formed a habit of going
+down town for a part of every day at least,
+and if he really did no work he created an
+impression of stability which was rather surprising
+to those who had known him longest.
+The Crabbs were desirable acquaintances in
+the married set, and before two years had
+passed, Patricia made for herself an enviable
+reputation as a hostess and dinner guest, to say
+nothing of that of a model wife. Not a cloud
+larger than a speck had risen upon the matrimonial
+horizon and their little bark sailed
+steadily forward propelled by the mildest of
+breezes upon an ocean that was all made up
+of ripples and sunshine. Mortimer Crabb
+loved abundantly, and Patricia was contented
+to watch him worship, while she shaped the
+course to her liking.</p>
+
+<p>There were still times, however, when she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span>
+sat and watched the flames of the library fire
+while she stirred up the embers of romance.
+Few women who have been adored as Patricia
+had been are willing too abruptly to shut the
+door upon the memory of the might-have-beens.
+The coquette in her was dying hard&mdash;as
+it sometimes does in childless women. She
+still liked the attentions to which she had been
+accustomed, and her husband saw that she was
+constantly amused&mdash;provided with clever men
+from his clubs as dance partners for the Philadelphia
+girls who visited them. Stephen
+Ventnor, who was selling bonds down-town,
+had been persuaded at last to forget his troubles
+and now came frequently to dinner.
+There was nothing Patricia wanted, it seemed,
+except something to want.</p>
+
+<p>One day, quite by chance, she met another
+one of the might-have-beens upon the street.
+She did not know him at first, for he now
+wore a small moustache and the years had not
+passed as lightly over his head as they had
+over hers. She felt her way barred by a tall<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span>
+figure, and before she knew it, was shaking
+hands with Heywood Pennington.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Patty,&rdquo; he was saying, &ldquo;don&rsquo;t you know
+me? Does four years make such a difference?&rdquo;
+A warm tint rose and spread unbidden
+from Patricia&rsquo;s neck to temples. It
+angered her that she could not control it, but
+she smiled at him and said that she was glad
+to see him.</p>
+
+<p>Together they walked up the Avenue, and,
+as they went, she questioned and he told her
+his story. No recriminations passed. He
+made it plain to her that he was too glad to
+see her for that. He was in business, he said
+vaguely, and in the future was to make New
+York his home. So, when she took leave of
+him, Patricia asked the prodigal to call. It
+will be apparent to anyone that there was
+nothing else to do.</p>
+
+<p>Mortimer Crabb received the information
+at the dinner table that night with a changeless
+expression.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sure if you want Mr. Pennington<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span>
+here, he&rsquo;ll be welcome,&rdquo; he said with a slow
+smile. &ldquo;He&rsquo;s a very, very old friend of
+yours, isn&rsquo;t he, Patty?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, yes&mdash;since school days,&rdquo; she said,
+quietly. And she blushed again, but if Crabb
+noticed, it was not apparent, for he immediately
+busied himself with his soup.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;He used to be such a nice boy,&rdquo; said Patricia.
+&ldquo;But I&rsquo;m afraid he got pretty wild
+and&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; put in her husband, a little dryly.
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve heard something about him.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>She glanced at him quickly, but he did not
+look up and she went on:</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I thought it would be nice if we could do
+a little something for him, give him a lift, introduce
+him to some influential people&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Make an opportunity for him, in short,&rdquo;
+said Crabb.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Er&mdash;yes. He has had a pretty hard time,
+I think.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I shouldn&rsquo;t be surprised,&rdquo; said Crabb,
+&ldquo;most people do.&rdquo;</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Patricia foresaw an opportunity such as
+she had never had before, and a hundred
+plans at once flashed into her pretty head for
+the prodigal&rsquo;s regeneration. First, of course,
+she must kill the fatted calf, and she therefore
+planned at once a dinner party, at which Mr. Pennington
+should meet some of her intimate
+friends, Dicky Bowles and his wife, the Burnetts,
+who were on from Washington, the
+Charlie Chisolms and her sister Penelope.
+For reasons of her own Stephen Ventnor was
+not invited.</p>
+
+<p>Patricia presided skilfully with an air of
+matronly benevolence not to be denied and
+dextrously diverted the conversation into
+channels strictly impersonal. So that after
+dinner, while Charlie Chisolm was still talking
+rifle-bores with Mortimer, Patricia and
+Heywood Pennington went into the conservatory
+to see the new orchids.</p>
+
+<p>That was the first of many dinners. Patricia
+invited all the eligible girls of her acquaintance,
+one after another, and sat them<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span>
+next to Mr. Pennington in an apparent endeavor
+to supply the deficiency she had
+caused in that gentleman&rsquo;s affections. But new
+orchids came continually to the conservatory,
+and Patricia was not loath to show them.
+Then followed rides in the motor car when
+Crabb was down-town, and shopping expeditions
+when Crabb was at the club, for which
+Patricia chose Heywood Pennington as her
+escort, and whatever Mortimer Crabb
+thought of it all, he said little and looked less.</p>
+
+<p>But if her husband had been willing to worship
+blindly before he and Patricia had been
+engaged, marriage had cleared away some of
+the nebulę. He had learned to look upon his
+wife as a dear, capricious being, and with the
+abounding faith and confidence of amply proportioned
+men he was willing to believe that
+Patricia, like Cęsar&rsquo;s wife, was above suspicion.
+He was quite sure that she was foolish.
+But Patty&rsquo;s little finger foolish was more important
+to Mortimer than a whole Minerva.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Pennington&rsquo;s ways were not Crabb&rsquo;s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span>
+ways, however, and the husband learned one
+day, quite by chance, of an incident that had
+happened in New York which confirmed a
+previous impression. He went home a little
+sombre, for that very night Mr. Pennington
+was to dine again at his house.</p>
+
+<p>After dinner Patricia and Pennington vanished
+as usual into the conservatory and were
+seen no more until it was time for Patricia&rsquo;s
+guests to go. The husband lingered moodily
+by the fire after the door had closed upon the
+last one, who happened to be the might-have-been.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Patty,&rdquo; he began, &ldquo;don&rsquo;t you think it a little&mdash;er&mdash;inhospitable&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, Mort,&rdquo; Patricia broke in, &ldquo;don&rsquo;t be
+tiresome.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>But Mortimer Crabb had taken out his
+watch and was examining it with a judicial
+air.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Do you know,&rdquo; he said, calmly, &ldquo;that
+you&rsquo;ve been out there since ten? I don&rsquo;t think
+it&rsquo;s quite decent.&rdquo;</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>It was the first time her husband had used
+exactly this tone, and Patricia looked at him
+curiously, then pouted and laughed.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Jealous!&rdquo; she laughed, and blowing him a
+kiss flew upstairs, leaving her husband still
+looking into the fire. But he did not smile as
+he usually did when this was her mood, and in
+her last backward glance Patricia did not fail
+to notice it. Instead of following her, Mortimer
+Crabb lit a cigar and went over to his
+study. Perhaps he should have spoken more
+severely to Patricia before this. He had been
+on the point of it a dozen times. Gossip had
+dealt with Pennington none too kindly, but
+Crabb didn&rsquo;t believe in gossip and he did believe
+in his wife.</p>
+
+<p>He finished his cigar and then lit another
+while he tried to think the matter out, until,
+at last, Patricia, a pretty vision in braids and
+lace, came pattering down. He heard the
+footfalls and felt the soft hands upon his
+shoulders, but did not turn his head. He
+knew what was to come and had not the humor<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span>
+or the art to compromise. Patricia, with quick
+divination, took her hands away and went
+around by the fire where she could look at her
+husband.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; she said, half defiantly. Crabb replied
+without raising his eyes from the fire.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Patty,&rdquo; he said quietly, &ldquo;you mustn&rsquo;t ask
+Mr. Pennington to the house.&rdquo; Patricia
+looked at him as though she had not heard
+aright. But she did not speak.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You must know,&rdquo; he went on, &ldquo;that I&rsquo;ve
+been thinking about you and Mr. Pennington
+for some time, but I haven&rsquo;t spoken so plainly
+before. You mustn&rsquo;t be seen with Mr. Pennington
+again.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>He rose and knocked his cigar ashes into
+the chimney and then turned to face his wife.
+Patricia&rsquo;s foot was tapping rapidly upon the
+fender while her figure presented the picture
+of injured dignity.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It is preposterous&mdash;impossible,&rdquo; she
+gasped. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m going to ride with him to-morrow
+afternoon.&rdquo;</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>And then after a pause in which she eagerly
+scanned her husband&rsquo;s face, she broke
+forth into a nervous laugh: &ldquo;Upon my word,
+Mort, I believe you <i>are</i> jealous.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Perhaps I am,&rdquo; said Crabb, slowly, &ldquo;but
+I&rsquo;m in earnest, too. Do what I ask, Patricia.
+Don&rsquo;t ride to-morrow&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;And if I should refuse&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Crabb shrugged his broad shoulders and
+turned away.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It would be too bad,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;that&rsquo;s all.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;But how can you do such a thing,&rdquo; she
+cried, &ldquo;without a reason&mdash;without any excuse?
+Why, Heywood has been here every
+day for&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; and then broke off in confusion.</p>
+
+<p>Crabb smiled rather grimly, but he generously
+passed the opportunity by.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Every reason that I wish&mdash;every excuse
+that I need. Isn&rsquo;t that enough?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No, it isn&rsquo;t&mdash;I refuse to believe anything
+about him.&rdquo; Crabb looked at his wife sombrely.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Then we&rsquo;d better say no more. Your attitude<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span>
+makes it impossible for me to argue
+the question. Good-night.&rdquo; He opened the
+door and stood waiting for her to go out. She
+hesitated a moment and then swept by him,
+her very ruffles breathing rebellion.</p>
+
+<p>The next morning he kissed her good-bye
+when she was reading her mail.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll write him, Patty, won&rsquo;t you?&rdquo; he
+said, as he went out.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes&mdash;yes,&rdquo; she answered, quickly, &ldquo;I will&mdash;I&rsquo;ll
+write him.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Patricia did write to him. But it was not
+at all the sort of a letter that Crabb would
+have cared to see.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>Dear Heywood [it ran], something has
+happened, so can&rsquo;t ride to-day. Meet me near
+the arch in Washington Square at three. Until
+then&mdash;</p>
+
+<p class="noi right">As ever,&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br />
+P.<br /></p></div>
+
+
+
+
+<hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI</h2>
+
+
+<p class="cap">Patricia awoke rudely and with an
+appalling sense that she had made a
+shocking fool of herself. Heywood
+Pennington suddenly vanished out of her life
+as completely as though Fifth Avenue had
+opened and swallowed him. Very suddenly
+he had left New York, they said. And upon
+her breakfast tray one morning Patricia found
+the following in a handwriting unfamiliar
+and evidently disguised:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p class="noi right">March 12, 19&mdash;</p>
+<p class="noi">Mrs. Mortimer Crabb,</p>
+<p>Dear Madam:</p>
+
+<p>I have in my possession twenty-one letters
+and notes written by you to Mr. Heywood
+Pennington, formerly of Philadelphia.
+Kindly acknowledge receipt of this communication
+and bring to this office, in person, on
+Wednesday of next week, five thousand dollars<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span>
+in cash or the letters will be mailed to
+Mr. Crabb.</p>
+
+<p class="noi right">
+(Signed) <span class="smcap">John Doe</span>,&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br />
+Care of Fairman and Brooke,&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br />
+No. &mdash;&mdash; Liberty Street.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>There in her fingers it flaunted its brutality.
+What could it mean? Her letters? To Heywood
+Pennington? Why&mdash;they were only
+notes&mdash;harmless little records of their friendship.
+What had she said? How had this
+odious Doe&mdash;&mdash;?</p>
+
+<p>It was a week since she had seen the prodigal.
+They had quarreled some days ago, for
+Mr. Pennington&rsquo;s lazy humor had turned to
+a reckless unconvention which had somewhat
+startled her. Her secret declaration of independence
+had led her a little out of her
+depth, and she began to feel more and more
+like the child with the jam-pot&mdash;only the
+jam-pot was out of all proportion to real jam-pots
+and the smears seemed to defy the most
+generous use of soap and water. This horrible
+Doe was the neighbor&rsquo;s boy who told, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span>
+Mortimer Crabb was suddenly invested with
+a newly-born parental dignity and wisdom.
+Mort! It made her shudder to think of her
+husband receiving those letters. She knew
+him so well and yet she knew him so little.
+She felt tempted to throw all else to the winds
+and make a full confession&mdash;of what? of
+a childish ingenuousness&mdash;which confession
+would magnify a hundred-fold. What had
+she to confess? Meetings in the Park? Her
+face burned with shame. It would have
+seemed less childish if her face had burned
+with shame at things a little more tangible.
+Lunches in out-of-the-way restaurants, innocent
+enough in themselves, whose only pleasure
+was the knowledge that she took them unpermitted.
+She knew that she deserved to be
+stood in the corner or be sent to bed without
+her supper, but she quailed at the thought of
+meeting her husband&rsquo;s eye. She knew that he
+could make it singularly cold and uncompromising.</p>
+
+<p>And the letters. Why hadn&rsquo;t Heywood<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span>
+burned them? And yet why should he have?
+Pennington&rsquo;s ideas of a compromising position
+she realized, with some bitterness, differed
+somewhat from hers. And she knew she
+<i>couldn&rsquo;t</i> have written anything to regret. She
+tried to think, and a phrase here and there recurred
+to her. Perhaps Mort might know her
+well enough to guess how little they meant&mdash;but
+perhaps he didn&rsquo;t. Words written to
+another were so desperately easy to misunderstand.</p>
+
+<p>How could these letters have fallen into the
+hands of a stranger? The more she thought
+of it the more impenetrable became the mystery.
+How could this villainous Doe have
+guessed her identity? A few of these letters
+were signed merely &ldquo;Patty,&rdquo; but most of them
+were not signed at all. It was dreadful to be
+insulted with no redress at any hand. Five
+thousand dollars! The very insignificance of
+the figures made her position worse. Was this
+the value of her reputation? Truly her fortunes
+had sunk to their lowest ebb. She tried<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span>
+to picture John Doe, a small ferret of a man
+with heavy eyes, red hair, and a rumpled
+shirt-front, sitting in a dingy office up three
+flights of stairs, fingering her little scented
+notes with his soiled fingers. Oh, it was horrible&mdash;horrible!
+Yet how could she escape?
+Would she not tarnish her soul still more by
+paying the wretched money&mdash;Mort&rsquo;s money&mdash;in
+forfeit of her disobedience to him? Every
+instinct revolted at the thought. Wouldn&rsquo;t
+it be better after all to throw herself upon
+Mort&rsquo;s mercy? She knew now how much
+bigger and better he was than anything else
+in the world. She loved him now. She knew
+it. There wouldn&rsquo;t ever be any more might-have-beens.
+She longed to feel his protecting
+arms about her and hear his quiet steady voice
+in her ears, even though it was to scold her for
+the mere child that she was. His arms seemed
+the greater sanctuary now&mdash;now that she was
+not sure that they ever could be opened to
+her. Still clasping the letter she buried her
+face in the pillows of her couch and wept.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span>
+That night she sent down word that she had a
+headache, but a night&rsquo;s rest did wonders. A
+cheerful, smiling person descended on Crabb
+in the midst of his morning coffee.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What! Patty! At the breakfast table?
+Will the wonders never cease?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t come to breakfast, Mort. I wanted
+to see you before you went out.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Crabb smiled over the top of his coffee
+cup.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What is it, Patty? A hat bill or an opera
+cloak? I&rsquo;m prepared. Tell me the awful
+worst.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t, Mort&mdash;please. I can&rsquo;t bear you
+facetious. It&rsquo;s&mdash;er&mdash;about Madame Jacquard&rsquo;s
+bill and some others. They&rsquo;ve gotten
+a little large and she&mdash;she wants me to help
+her out to-day&mdash;if I can&mdash;if you can&mdash;and I
+told her I would&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Crabb was wrapped in contemplation of his
+muffin. But he allowed his wife to struggle
+through to the end. Then he looked up a little
+seriously from under heavy brows.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Um&mdash;er&mdash;how much, Patty? A thousand?
+I think it can be managed&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No, Mort,&rdquo; she interrupted, tremulously,
+&ldquo;you see I have had to get so many things of
+late&mdash;we&rsquo;ve been going out a great deal you
+know&mdash;a lot of other things you wouldn&rsquo;t understand.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh! Perhaps I might.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No&mdash;I&mdash;I&rsquo;m afraid I&rsquo;ve been rather extravagant
+this winter. I didn&rsquo;t tell you but I&mdash;I&rsquo;ve
+used up my allowance long&mdash;ever so
+long ago.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Mortimer Crabb&rsquo;s brows were now really
+menacing.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It seems to me&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; he began. But she
+interrupted him at once.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I know I ought to be called a beggar on
+horseback, because I really have ridden
+rather&mdash;rather fast this winter&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Two thousand?&rdquo; he questioned.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No, Mort, you see, it isn&rsquo;t only the dresses
+and the hats. I&rsquo;m afraid I&rsquo;ve been losing more
+than I should have lost at auction.&rdquo;</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Bridge!&rdquo; he said, pitilessly, &ldquo;I thought&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes&mdash;bub&mdash;bridge.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I thought my warning might be sufficient.
+I&rsquo;m sorry&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;So am I,&rdquo; she whispered, her head lowered,
+now thoroughly abased. &ldquo;I am not going
+to play any more.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;How much&mdash;three thousand?&rdquo; he asked
+again.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No,&rdquo; she said, desperately, &ldquo;more. I&rsquo;m
+afraid it will take five thousand dollars to pay
+everything.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Phew!&rdquo; he whistled. &ldquo;How in the name
+of all that&rsquo;s expensive&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, I don&rsquo;t know&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; helplessly, &ldquo;money
+adds up so fast&mdash;I suppose that father
+might help me if you can&rsquo;t&mdash;but I didn&rsquo;t
+want to ask him if I could help it; you know
+he&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, no,&rdquo; said Crabb, with a sudden move
+of the hand. &ldquo;It can be managed, of course,
+but I admit I&rsquo;m surprised&mdash;very much surprised<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span>
+that you haven&rsquo;t thought fit to take me
+closer into your confidence.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sorry, Mort,&rdquo; she muttered, humbly.
+&ldquo;It won&rsquo;t happen again.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Crabb pushed back his chair and rose.
+&ldquo;Oh, well, don&rsquo;t say anything more about it,
+Patty. It must be attended to, of course.
+Just give me a list of the items and I&rsquo;ll send
+out the checks.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;But, Mort, I&rsquo;d like to&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll just stop in at Madame Jacquard&rsquo;s on
+the way uptown and&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Patty started up and then sank back weakly.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, Mort, dear,&rdquo; she faltered, &ldquo;it isn&rsquo;t
+worth while. It would be so much out of
+your way&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Not a bit,&rdquo; said Crabb, striding cheerfully
+to the door. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s only a step from the subway,
+and then I can come on up the Avenue&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>But Patricia by this time had fastened
+tightly upon the lapels of his coat, and was
+looking half tearfully up into his face.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&mdash;I want to see Madame about some
+things she hasn&rsquo;t sent up yet&mdash;I must go there
+to-day. I&rsquo;ll&mdash;I&rsquo;ll tell her, Mort, and then if
+you&rsquo;ll arrange it, I&rsquo;ll just send it to her to-morrow.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Mortimer Crabb looked into the blue eyes
+that she raised to his and relented.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;All right,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;you shall have your
+own way.&rdquo; And then, with the suspicion of
+a smile, &ldquo;Shall I make a check to your order?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;To&mdash;to mine, Mort&mdash;it always makes me
+feel more important to pay my bills myself&mdash;and
+besides&mdash;the bub&mdash;bridge, you know.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>When Patricia heard the front door shut behind
+her husband, she gave a great sigh and
+sank on the divan in a state of utter collapse.</p>
+
+<p>The next day Patricia dressed herself in
+a plain, dark skirt, a long grey coat and wore
+two heavy veils over an unobtrusive sailor hat.
+In her hand she clutched a small hand satchel
+containing the precious check and the odious
+letter of John Doe. First she went to the
+bank and converted the check into crisp thousand<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span>
+dollar notes. Then walking rapidly she
+took the elevated for that unknown region
+which men call down-town. There was little
+difficulty in finding the place. The narrow
+doorway she had imagined was wide&mdash;even
+imposing, and an Irish janitor with a cheerful
+countenance, was sweeping the pavement and
+whistling. It was not in the least Dickens-ish,
+or Machiavellian. The atmosphere was that
+of a very cheerful and modern New York and
+Patricia&rsquo;s spirits revived. A cleanly boy in
+buttons ran the elevator.</p>
+
+<p>But as the elevator shot up, Patty&rsquo;s heart
+shot down. She had hoped there would be
+stairs to climb. The imminence of the visit
+filled her with alarm, and before she realized
+it, she was deposited&mdash;a bundle of quivering
+nerves, before the very door. Gathering her
+shattered forces together, she knocked timorously
+and entered. It was a cheerful room
+with a bright carpet and an outlook over the
+river. A small boy who sat inside a wooden
+railing, sprang up and came forward.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I wish to see Mr. Doe,&rdquo; stammered Patty,
+&ldquo;Mr. John Doe.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Must be a mistake,&rdquo; said the youth. &ldquo;This
+is Fairman &amp; Brookes, Investments. Nobody
+that name here, ma&rsquo;am.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>At that moment an elderly man of very
+proper appearance came forward from an inner
+office.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Mrs. Crabb?&rdquo; he inquired, politely. &ldquo;That
+will do, Dick, you may go inside,&rdquo; and then
+rather quizzically: &ldquo;You wished to see Mr.&mdash;er&mdash;Mr.&mdash;Doe?
+Mr. John Doe? I think
+he was expecting you. If you&rsquo;ll wait a moment
+I&rsquo;ll see,&rdquo; and he entered a door which
+led to another office.</p>
+
+<p>Patricia dropped into a chair by the railing
+completely baffled. This villainous creature
+expected her! How could he expect her?
+It was only Friday and the appointment was
+not until the Wednesday of the following
+week. She looked at her surroundings, trying
+to find a flaw in their prosperous garb of respectability.
+That such rascality could exist<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span>
+under the guise of decent business! And the
+benevolent person who had carried her name
+might very properly serve upon the vestry of
+St. &mdash;&mdash;&rsquo;s church! Truly there were depths
+of iniquity in this vile community of business
+people that her little social plummet could
+never seek to sound. The little red-headed
+man with the ferret eyes had vanished from
+her mind. In his place she saw a type even
+more alarming&mdash;the sleek, well-groomed man
+with dissipated eyes that she and Mort had
+often seen dining at popular restaurants. Her
+mission would not be as easy to accomplish
+as it had seemed. Her speech to the ferret-eyed
+man which she had so carefully rehearsed
+had gone completely from her mind. What
+she should say to this other man, whom she
+both loathed and feared, her vagrant wits refused
+to invent. So in spite of a brave poise of
+the head she sat in a kind of syncope of dismay,
+and awaited&mdash;she knew not what.</p>
+
+<p>The benevolent vestryman returned smiling.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Mr. Doe has just come in, Mrs. Crabb. If<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span>
+you&rsquo;ll kindly come this way.&rdquo; He opened the
+door and stood aside with an old-world courtliness
+that all but disarmed her. He followed
+her into the inner corridor and opened another
+door, smiling the while, and Patricia,
+trembling from head to foot, yet resolute, went
+in, while the elderly person carefully closed
+the door behind her. A tall figure in an overcoat
+and soft hat was bending over the fireplace
+upon the opposite side of the room adjusting
+a log.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Mr. Doe?&rdquo; came in a small, muffled voice
+from behind Patricia&rsquo;s veil.</p>
+
+<p>The man at the fireplace still poked at the
+logs and made no move to take off his hat.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;The brute&mdash;the utter brute,&rdquo; thought Patricia&mdash;and
+then aloud, &ldquo;Mr. Doe, I believe.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, madam,&rdquo; said a voice at last. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m
+John Doe&mdash;what can I do for you?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I came about the letters&mdash;the letters, you
+know, you wrote me about. I am prepared
+to&mdash;to redeem them.&rdquo;</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;H&mdash;m,&rdquo; growled the overcoat. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s
+Crabb, isn&rsquo;t it? Mrs. Crabb? I&rsquo;m always getting
+the Cobb and Crabb letters mixed&mdash;six of
+one and half a dozen of the other&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I beg pardon,&rdquo; faltered Patty.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cases very similar. Bad man&mdash;good
+woman. Trusting husband&mdash;hey? Well,&rdquo;
+he muttered brutally, &ldquo;did you bring the
+money?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It is here,&rdquo; said Patricia, trembling. &ldquo;Now
+the letters&mdash;and let me go.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The man moved slowly toward a desk
+against the wall with his back still turned,
+took out a package, rose and, turning, handed
+it to Patricia.</p>
+
+<p>Had her gaze not been fixed so eagerly upon
+the handwriting on the package she could not
+have failed to note the smiling gray eyes above
+the upturned coat collar.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Why, it is sealed and addressed to me!&rdquo;
+she cried, in surprise. &ldquo;The package hasn&rsquo;t
+even been opened.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I never said it had,&rdquo; said the man in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span>
+overcoat, removing his hat. &ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t want
+to read the stuff, Patty.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The package fell to the floor amid the fluttering
+bills. Patricia&rsquo;s knees trembled and
+she would have fallen had not a pair of strong
+arms gone about her and held her up.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s only Mort, Patty,&rdquo; said a voice.
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you understand? It&rsquo;s all been a deception
+and mistake. There isn&rsquo;t any John
+Doe. It&rsquo;s only your husband&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, how could you, Mort?&rdquo; sobbed Patricia.
+&ldquo;How could you be so hard&mdash;so&mdash;so
+cruel?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Crabb&rsquo;s answer was to push the veil back
+from his wife&rsquo;s face and kiss away her tears.
+She did not resist now and sank against him
+with a restful sigh that told him more than
+any words could do the full measure of her
+penitence. But in a moment she started up
+pale and wide-eyed.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;But this office&mdash;these people&mdash;do they
+know&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Bless you, no,&rdquo; laughed Crabb. &ldquo;Fairman&rsquo;s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span>
+a sort of business associate of mine. I
+only borrowed his private office for an hour or
+so. He thinks it is a practical joke. It was&mdash;is&mdash;a
+cruel one&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;But he&rsquo;ll guess&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, no, he won&rsquo;t,&rdquo; laughed Crabb.</p>
+
+<p>Patricia&rsquo;s gaze fell quietly upon the floor
+where the bills and the package still lay in
+disordered confusion.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;And the letters&mdash;you never even read
+them?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, Patty,&rdquo; said her husband, &ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t
+want to read &rsquo;em.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Can you ever forgive me, Mort?&rdquo; She
+broke away from him, bent to the floor, picked
+up the package, and broke the seal.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;But you <i>shall</i> read them, Mort,&rdquo; she cried,
+her face flaming, &ldquo;every last silly one of
+them.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>But Crabb&rsquo;s hands closed over hers and
+took the package gently from her. His only
+answer was to throw the papers into the fire.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, Mort,&rdquo; she murmured, horrified,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span>
+&ldquo;what have you done&mdash;you might believe
+<i>anything</i> of me now.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I shall,&rdquo; he chuckled, &ldquo;that&rsquo;s your penance.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Please, Mort&mdash;there&rsquo;s time yet&mdash;just read
+a few&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Crabb poked vigorously at the fire.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, Mort, it&rsquo;s inhuman! You only knew
+Heywood Pennington&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Sh&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; said Crabb, putting his hand over
+her lips. &ldquo;No names&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;But he&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No, no.&rdquo; And then, after a pause, &ldquo;He
+wasn&rsquo;t even a might-have-been, Patty.&rdquo; She
+said no more. They sat hand in hand watching
+the record of Patricia&rsquo;s foolishness go up
+in smoke. And when the last scrap had vanished,
+he sprang cheerfully to his feet and
+picked up the scattered bills.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Come, Patty, luncheon! And after that&rdquo;&mdash;Mortimer
+Crabb stopped again and blinked
+quizzically at the fire&mdash;&ldquo;hadn&rsquo;t we better keep
+your engagement&mdash;with Madame Jacquard?&rdquo;</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII</h2>
+
+
+<p class="cap">Thus ended the might-have-beens.
+And the thing that Patricia had
+taken to be the phantom of romance
+went up in the smoke of John Doe&rsquo;s fire.
+Mortimer Crabb never volunteered any information
+as to how he got the letters, nor any
+information as to what became of Heywood
+Pennington. For one horrible moment the
+thought crossed Patricia&rsquo;s brain that perhaps
+there had never been any letters of hers in the
+package her husband had burned, but she dismissed
+it at once as reflecting unpleasantly
+upon the quality of her intelligence. But one
+thing was sure, she now had an adequate understanding
+of the mind of her husband. It
+was the only misunderstanding they had ever
+had and Patricia knew there would never be
+another. Mr. Pennington did not appear
+again and so far as this veracious history is<span class="ispan pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span>
+concerned, after his departure from New
+York, may have gone at once to Jericho. Patricia
+ceased to think of him, not because he
+was not present, but because thinking of him
+reminded her that she had been a fool, and
+no woman with the reputation for cleverness
+which Patricia possessed, could afford to
+make such an admission even to herself. She
+was now sure of several things&mdash;that she loved
+Mortimer Crabb with all her heart&mdash;and that
+she would never all her life long love anyone
+else. She might flirt, yes&mdash;nay more, she <i>must</i>
+flirt. What was the use spending one&rsquo;s life
+in bringing an art to the perfection Patricia
+had attained and then suddenly forswearing
+it? Fortunately her husband did not require
+that of her. He never quite knew what she
+was going to do next, but he never really mistrusted
+her. And to Patricia&rsquo;s credit it may
+be said that she never caused pain and that if
+she flirted&mdash;she sometimes did&mdash;it was in a
+good cause.</p>
+
+<p>The building of the country place had gone<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span>
+forward during the winter, and early summer
+found them installed there. Beginning with
+the housewarming, which was memorable,
+guests came and went and upon them all Patricia
+practiced her altruism which, since the
+adventure with John Doe, had taken a somewhat
+different character. Yet even among
+these she found work for her busy hands to do.</p>
+
+<p>It happened that among their guests the
+Crabbs had staying with them as a remnant
+of the housewarming party a young girl who,
+because she was only a little younger than
+Patricia in years, but centuries younger in
+knowledge of the world, had become one of
+her most treasured friends.</p>
+
+<p>Little Miss North loved her, too&mdash;looked
+up to her as the ignorant do to the wise, and
+when her engagement to the Baron DeLaunay
+was announced Aurora came and told Patricia
+even before she told her family. Yet Patricia&rsquo;s
+shrewd mind found something wrong
+and she urged the girl to come and join her
+housewarming for the sole reason of finding<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span>
+out the true inwardness of the engagement,
+and perhaps, too&mdash;who shall say?&mdash;to practice
+her arts again.</p>
+
+<p>After a day or two of mild questioning, of
+studying, of watching, she began to see
+light.</p>
+
+<p>Then she invited the Baron for a week end,
+and made certain preparations.</p>
+
+<p>Then she waited his arrival with her nerves
+tingling.</p>
+
+<p>She met her husband and the Baron at the
+steps as they ascended from the machine
+which brought them from the station.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ah monsieur! so glad! I was wondering
+if you&rsquo;d be here in time for tea.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Wild horses could not have detained me
+longer, from a glimpse of your <i>beaux yeux</i>,
+Madame.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>He bent forward with a handsome gesture
+and kissed the tips of Patricia&rsquo;s fingers, but
+she laughed gaily.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t waste pretty speeches, Baron. Besides&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+she paused significantly and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span>
+pointed toward the door through which her
+husband&rsquo;s shoulders had disappeared, &ldquo;she is
+there,&rdquo; she finished.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;<i>Hélas!</i>&rdquo; The Frenchman shrugged his
+shoulders expressively; then straightened and
+showed his teeth in a smile.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Since my speeches are wasted, I will follow
+you in, Madame.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Patricia paused.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;All the world loves a lover&mdash;even I&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes&mdash;yes&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;If I could be sure that you loved&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Her,&rdquo; sternly.</p>
+
+<p>He shrugged again, &ldquo;Ah, yes&mdash;I love her&mdash;of
+course! Why, otherwise, should I wish to
+marry her?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I wonder,&rdquo; slowly, &ldquo;why you speak of my
+<i>beaux yeux</i>?&rdquo; she said thoughtfully.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Because I cannot help it&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;A lover should be blind,&rdquo; she put in.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Like a husband?&rdquo; he asked, significantly.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Like a wife,&rdquo; she corrected, soberly.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>He followed her indoors, where Aurora
+met them at the door of the library.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Tea, Aurora,&rdquo; she announced. &ldquo;Will you
+pour it? Mort and I will be in in a moment.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>She hovered in the doorway insistently until
+she saw DeLaunay safely seated on the
+davenport at the tea-table by Aurora&rsquo;s side,
+and only then she departed in the direction of
+the smoking room.</p>
+
+<p>Mortimer Crabb was drinking a glass of
+whiskey and water. At the sound of his wife&rsquo;s
+voice he turned.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Did you get it, Mort?&rdquo; she asked.</p>
+
+<p>For reply he fumbled in the pockets of his
+dust-coat and brought forth a small package.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, yes. Here it is. Pretty insignificant
+affair to make such a fuss about,&rdquo; and he
+handed it to her.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s the little things that mean the most,
+my dear husband&mdash;like that,&rdquo; she said significantly,
+&ldquo;and this,&rdquo; and she kissed him for his
+reward.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>He held her away from him and looked at
+her good-humoredly&mdash;the quizzical humor
+that was characteristic of him.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You never kiss me unless you&rsquo;re up to some
+mischief, Patty.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Then you ought to be glad I&rsquo;m mischievous,
+Mort. It&rsquo;s an ill wind that blows nobody
+any good.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;H&mdash;m. Why all the mystery? Can&rsquo;t you
+tell a fellow?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>She shook her head.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Why not?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Because then you don&rsquo;t know as much as
+I do.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Why shouldn&rsquo;t I?&rdquo; he protested. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m
+your husband.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Because if you knew as much as I do&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+She paused. &ldquo;You know, Mort, it&rsquo;s only the
+ignorant husband who&rsquo;s entirely, blissfully
+happy.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m not so sure about that,&rdquo; he laughed.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Aren&rsquo;t you happy, Mort?&rdquo; she asked.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ah, hang it, yes. But&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Then there&rsquo;s nothing left to be said,&rdquo; and
+she kissed him again.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t understand&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>She laid resisting fingers on his arm.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Of course you can&rsquo;t. That&rsquo;s one of your
+charms, Mort, dear. It&rsquo;s much better for a
+woman to be misunderstood. The husband
+who &lsquo;understands&rsquo; his wife is on the highway
+to purgatory. Ask no more questions. If I
+answer them I surely will lie to you.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What the deuce can Daggett and McDade
+be doing for you. They&rsquo;re job-printers. They
+don&rsquo;t engrave your cards or stationery or anything&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;N&mdash;&mdash;o,&rdquo; with a rising inflection.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well&mdash;what?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I needed some printing.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, why not go to Tiffany&rsquo;s? The idea
+of your sending me away over on the East
+side&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;They&rsquo;re such adorable printers, Mort.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Who ever heard of a printer being adorable?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span>
+Fudge! What&rsquo;s the game now? Can&rsquo;t
+you tell a fellow?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No,&rdquo; firmly.</p>
+
+<p>Crabb always recognized the note of finality
+in his wife&rsquo;s voice, so he merely shrugged his
+shoulders and followed her with his eyes as
+she blew another kiss in his direction and vanished
+up the stairs.</p>
+
+<p>In the privacy of her own room Patricia did
+some cryptic things with newspapers, a pair
+of scissors, and the package from the adorable
+printers, and when she had finished, she folded
+up the newspapers, with their mysterious
+contents, including the scissors, and with a
+fleeting glance at herself in the mirror, went
+down stairs.</p>
+
+<p>She entered the library noiselessly and after
+a glance at her guests at the tea-table, she
+slipped her package into the drawer of the
+library table and joined them.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;How envious you make me&mdash;you two,&rdquo; she
+sighed, sinking into a chair, &ldquo;you&rsquo;re so satisfied
+with yourselves&mdash;and with each other.&rdquo;</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>DeLaunay smiled and fingered his tea-cup.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Would you have it otherwise?&rdquo; he asked.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, no,&rdquo; she said lightly, &ldquo;I&rsquo;m a professional
+nursery governess to polite and well-meaning
+persons of opposite sexes. Nursery
+governesses are not permitted emotions or
+opinions of any kind, my dears.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;But even nursery governesses are human,
+I am told,&rdquo; said DeLaunay, showing his white
+teeth.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Are they? <i>My</i> governesses never were.
+They were all inhuman&mdash;like me. The sight
+of youthful license arouses all my professional
+instincts. That&rsquo;s why I&rsquo;m in such demand by
+despairing mothers of romantic heiresses.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Patty! you&rsquo;re horrid.&rdquo; Aurora&rsquo;s heavily
+lidded eyes opened wide. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m not romantic&mdash;not
+in the least&mdash;and I&rsquo;m <i>not</i> an heiress&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh,&rdquo; said Patricia.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;At least,&rdquo; Aurora amended, &ldquo;not in the
+modern sense. But it wouldn&rsquo;t matter to
+Louis or to me if we&mdash;really had to work for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span>
+our living. I&rsquo;m so anxious to be of some use
+in the world. Oh, we&rsquo;ve planned that already,
+haven&rsquo;t we, Louis?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said DeLaunay, crisply, with a
+glance of defiance in his eye for Patricia. &ldquo;We
+have planned that.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Patricia&rsquo;s lips twisted, but she said nothing.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I sometimes think, Patty,&rdquo; went on Aurora,
+&ldquo;that you&rsquo;re a little unsympathetic.
+Won&rsquo;t you really like to see us married?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Patricia laughed. &ldquo;Oh, yes&mdash;but not to
+each other.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Why not?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;re too much in love, dear, for one
+thing. <i>C&rsquo;est si bourgeois&mdash;n&rsquo;est-ce-pas, Baron?</i>
+Things are arranged better in France?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>He shrugged his shoulders.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Your customs in America are very pleasant
+ones,&rdquo; he replied, imperturbably. &ldquo;I am
+indeed fortunate to find myself so much in
+accord with them.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Aurora gave him a rapturous glance for reward,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span>
+and he took her fingers in his in calm
+defiance of his pretty hostess.</p>
+
+<p>Patricia put down her finished tea-cup with
+a laugh and rose.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Then I can&rsquo;t dismay you&mdash;either of
+you?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Aurora smiled scornfully.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Not in the least&mdash;can she, Louis?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Not in the least,&rdquo; he repeated.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, very well, your blood upon your own
+heads.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Or in our hearts, Madame,&rdquo; corrected DeLaunay,
+with a bow.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Come, Aurora,&rdquo; smiled Patricia, &ldquo;it&rsquo;s
+time to dress.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<hr class="tb" />
+
+<p>Patricia spent some time and some thought
+upon her toilet. Deep sea-green was her
+color, for it matched her eyes, which to-night
+were unfathomable. In the midst of her
+dainty occupation she turned her head over
+her shoulder and called her husband. Mortimer
+Crabb appeared in the door of his dressing-room<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span>
+which adjoined, one side of his face
+shaved, the other white with lather.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What is it?&rdquo; he mumbled.</p>
+
+<p>Patricia contemplated the back of her head
+at the dressing-table by the aid of a hand mirror,
+removed the hairpins one by one from her
+mouth and deliberately placed them before
+she replied.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Mort,&rdquo; she said, slowly, &ldquo;I want you to
+take Aurora out for a ride in the motor&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;To-night! Oh, I say, Patty&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;To-night,&rdquo; she said, firmly. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll arrange
+it. It will be dark and you&rsquo;re going to lose
+your way&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;How do you know I am?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Because I tell you so, stupid! You&rsquo;ve <i>got</i>
+to lose your way&mdash;for three hours.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>He looked at her shrewdly.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What&rsquo;s up now? Tell me, won&rsquo;t you? I&rsquo;m
+tired of rolling over and playing dead. I am.
+Besides, what can I do with that girl for three
+hours?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, I don&rsquo;t care,&rdquo; said Patricia. &ldquo;Tell her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span>
+stories&mdash;romantic ones. She likes those. Anything&mdash;make
+love to her if you like.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;So DeLaunay can make love to <i>you</i>,&rdquo; peevishly.
+&ldquo;I see. I&rsquo;m not going to stand for it.
+I&rsquo;m not any too keen on that fellow as it is.
+He&rsquo;s neglecting Aurora shamefully&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It <i>is</i> careless of him, isn&rsquo;t it?&rdquo; she said,
+tilting her head back to get another angle on
+her head-dress.</p>
+
+<p>Crabb took a step nearer, brandishing his
+safety razor in righteous indignation.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a shame, I tell you. You don&rsquo;t seem to
+have any conscience or any sense of proportion.
+You&rsquo;d flirt with a cigar-Indian if there
+wasn&rsquo;t anything else around. Why can&rsquo;t you
+leave these young people alone? Do you
+think I like the idea of your spending the evening
+here snug and warm with that Frenchman
+while I&rsquo;m shuttling around with that silly
+girl in the dark?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Mortimer, you&rsquo;re ungallant! What has
+poor Aurora ever done to you?&rdquo; She turned
+in her chair, looked at him, and then burst<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span>
+into laughter. He watched her with a puzzled
+frown. He never knew exactly how to
+take Patricia when she laughed at him.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;If you only knew how funny you look,
+Mort, dear. There&rsquo;s a smudge of soap on the
+end of your nose and you look like a charlotte
+russe.&rdquo; She rose slowly, put her fingers
+on his arm, and looked up into his eyes with
+a very winning expression.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t be silly, dear,&rdquo; she said, softly.
+&ldquo;You know you said you weren&rsquo;t going to
+doubt me again&mdash;ever. I know what I&rsquo;m
+about. I have a duty, a sacred duty to perform
+and you&rsquo;re going to take your share of
+it.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;A duty?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>She nodded. &ldquo;You&rsquo;re not to know until it&rsquo;s
+all over. You mustn&rsquo;t question, you&rsquo;re to be
+good and do exactly what I tell you to do.
+Won&rsquo;t you, Mort? There, I knew you would.
+It&rsquo;s such a little thing to do.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>She leaned as close to him as she could
+without getting soap on her face.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll tell you a secret if you&rsquo;ll promise to be
+nice. I don&rsquo;t like the man&mdash;really I don&rsquo;t&mdash;not
+at all.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>He looked in her eyes and believed her.
+&ldquo;You always get your way in the end, don&rsquo;t
+you?&rdquo; he said, after a pause.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Of course I do. What would be the <i>use</i>
+of a way, if one didn&rsquo;t <i>have</i> it?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>That seemed unanswerable logic, so Crabb
+grinned.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;re a queer one, Patty,&rdquo; which, as Patricia
+knew, meant that she was the most extraordinary
+and wonderful of persons. So she
+smiled at the back of his head as he went out
+because she agreed with him.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII</h2>
+
+
+<p class="cap">Patricia&rsquo;s dinner drew to its delectable
+close, and coffee had already been
+served when the butler went to the
+front door and brought back a telegram on a
+silver tray.</p>
+
+<p>Patricia picked it up and turned it over
+daintily.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;For you, Aurora,&rdquo; she said.</p>
+
+<p>Aurora with apologies tore open the envelope
+and read, her brow clouding.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I hope it&rsquo;s nothing serious,&rdquo; said Patricia,
+sweetly sympathetic.</p>
+
+<p>Aurora rose hurriedly. &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know,&rdquo; she
+said dubiously, and then reading: &ldquo;&lsquo;Aunt
+Jane sick, motor over this evening if possible.&rsquo;
+There&rsquo;s no signature. I suppose I&rsquo;ll have to
+go.&rdquo; Her lip protruded childishly. &ldquo;How
+tiresome!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s very inconsiderate of her, isn&rsquo;t it?&rdquo;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span>
+said Patricia. The look of incomprehension
+still lingered on the young girl&rsquo;s face.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t see what she wants of me,&rdquo; she
+murmured.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Perhaps she&rsquo;s seriously ill,&rdquo; Patricia volunteered.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Perhaps&mdash;yes, I must go, of course. But
+how can I?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Mortimer,&rdquo; Patricia provided the cue.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll drive you, Aurora,&rdquo; said Crabb.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;And Louis?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>DeLaunay made no sign.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I will take care of the Monsieur DeLaunay,
+dear. Do you think you could trust
+me?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Aurora&rsquo;s lips said, &ldquo;Of course,&rdquo; but her eyes
+winked rapidly several times as she adapted
+her mind to the situation.</p>
+
+<p>The decision reached, DeLaunay stepped
+forward.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;If you wish that I should go&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Quite unnecessary,&rdquo; put in Patricia, quickly.
+&ldquo;If your aunt Jane is sick, Aurora&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Aurora hung in the wind a regretful moment.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, yes&mdash;he&rsquo;d be in the way. I&rsquo;ll leave
+him with you, Patty. Please don&rsquo;t flirt any
+more than you can help.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;My dear child,&rdquo; said Patty, with solemn
+conviction, &ldquo;since poor, foolish Freddy Winthrop,
+engaged men are <i>taboo</i>. Besides, to-night
+I have other plans. I would not flirt if
+you could animate the Apollo Belvedere. As
+Mortimer so chastely puts it, &lsquo;me for the
+downy at 10 G. M.&rsquo; Monsieur will doubtless
+practice pool-shots or play a game of Napoleon.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, yes,&rdquo; said the Frenchman, with a
+calmness which scarcely concealed the note of
+derision.</p>
+
+<p>But Aurora, after one long look in his
+direction, had vanished to don motor clothing,
+and when she came down, Mortimer
+Crabb with his quivering car awaited her in
+the drive. Patricia and the Baron waved
+them good-by from the porch and then went<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span>
+indoors to the subtle effulgence of the drawing
+room. Patricia walked to the mantel,
+turned her back to the fire and stretched her
+shapely arms along its shelf, facing her guest
+with level gaze and a smile which was something
+between a taunt and a caress. DeLaunay
+inhaled luxuriously the smoke of his cigarette
+and appraised his hostess through the half-closed
+eyes of the artist searching for a &ldquo;motif.&rdquo;
+She was puzzling&mdash;this woman&mdash;like
+the vagrant color in a landscape in the afternoon
+sunlight, which shimmered one moment
+in the sun and in the next was lost in
+shadowy mystery&mdash;not the mystery of the
+solemn hills, but the playful mystery of the
+woodland brook which laughs mockingly
+from secret places. Her eyes were laughing
+at him. He felt it, though none of the
+physical symbols of laughter were offered in
+evidence.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m so sorry, Monsieur,&rdquo; she began in
+French. &ldquo;It is <i>such</i> a pity. There is no excuse
+for any one to have a sick aunt when the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span>
+stage is set for sentiment. I had planned your
+evening so carefully, too&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You are the soul of kindness, Madame,&rdquo;
+he said politely, still studying her.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she went on, slowly, &ldquo;I think I am.
+But then I am <i>chez moi</i>, and charity, you
+know, begins at home.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I hope you will not call it charity. Charity
+they say is cold. And you, Madame, whatever
+you would seek to express, are not
+cold.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;How can you know?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Your eyes&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;My <i>beaux yeux</i> again.&rdquo; She shrugged her
+shoulders, and turned toward the door. &ldquo;It
+is time, I think, for you to practice pool-shots.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ah, you are cruel!&rdquo; He stepped before her
+and held out protesting hands. &ldquo;I do not care
+for pool, Madame.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Or Napoleon?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No&mdash;I wish to talk with you. Please!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>She paused, appraising him sideways.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I have some letters to write,&rdquo; she said,
+briefly.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Please, Madame.&rdquo; He stood before her,
+his slender figure gracefully bent, motioning
+appealingly toward the deep davenport,
+which was set invitingly in front of the fire.
+She followed his gesture with her eyes, then
+with a light laugh passed before him and sat
+down.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Nothing about my <i>beaux yeux</i> then,&rdquo; she
+mocked.</p>
+
+<p>He glanced at her with a smile which
+showed his fine teeth and sank beside her and
+at a distance.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;<i>Voilą</i>, Madame! You see? I am an angel
+of discretion.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>She smiled approvingly. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m glad we
+understand each other.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Do we?&rdquo; he asked with a suggestion of effrontery.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I hope so.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m not so sure. To me you are still a mystery.&rdquo;</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Am I? That&rsquo;s curious. I&rsquo;ve tried to make
+my meaning plain. Perhaps I can make it
+clearer. For some weeks you have been making
+love to me, Monsieur. I don&rsquo;t like it. I
+never flirt, except with the very ancient or the
+very youthful,&rdquo; she said mendaciously. &ldquo;You
+don&rsquo;t come within my age limits.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>He laughed gayly.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Love is of all ages and no ages. I am both
+ancient and youthful. Old in hope, young in
+despair&mdash;in affairs of the heart, I assure you,
+a veritable babe in the arms. I have never
+really loved&mdash;until now.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Why do you marry Aurora then?&rdquo; she put
+in.</p>
+
+<p>He looked at her with a puzzled brow, then
+laughed merrily. &ldquo;Madame, you are too
+clever to waste your time in America.&rdquo; But
+as Patricia was looking very gravely into the
+fire, he too relapsed into silence, and frowned
+at the ash of his cigarette.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I do not see, Madame, why we should
+speak of her,&rdquo; he said, sulkily. &ldquo;It must be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span>
+clear to you that our understanding is complete.
+The marriages in my country, as you
+know&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, yes, I know,&rdquo; she interrupted, &ldquo;but
+Miss North is different. She has not the social
+ambitions of other girls. Miss North is romantic
+but quite unspoiled. Has it occurred
+to you that perhaps she may hope for a somewhat
+different relation between you?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;We are good friends&mdash;very good friends.
+She is enchanting,&rdquo; he said with enthusiasm,
+&ldquo;so innocent of the ways of the world, so talented,
+so charming. We shall be very
+happy.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I hope so,&rdquo; dryly.</p>
+
+<p>He examined her shrewdly.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You have her happiness close to your
+heart! Is it not so? What is to be feared?
+I shall be very good to her. We understand
+each other. She will be glad of the splendor
+of my ancient name, and I desire the means to
+restore my estates and place myself in a position
+of influence among my people. I care for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span>
+her as one cares for a lovely flower&mdash;but the
+mind&mdash;the soul, Madame, I have found them&mdash;elsewhere,&rdquo;
+he leaned forward and touched
+her fingers with his own.</p>
+
+<p>Patricia&rsquo;s gaze was far away. It seemed
+as though she was unconscious of his touch.
+&ldquo;It is a pity,&rdquo; she said, softly, &ldquo;a great pity. I
+am very sorry.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Could you not learn to care a little?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>She turned on him then, but her voice was
+still gentle.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;We are not in France, Monsieur,&rdquo; she said
+coldly.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What does that matter?&rdquo; he urged. &ldquo;Love
+knows nothing of geography. Love is a cosmopolite.
+It cares not for time or place or
+convention. I care for you very much, Madame,
+and whatever you may think, it makes
+me happy to tell you so.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;And Aurora?&rdquo; Patricia reiterated the
+word, like the clanging of an alarm bell.</p>
+
+<p>The Baron relaxed his grasp and lowered
+his head.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>She leaned forward, elbow on knee, looking
+into the fire.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You know, Baron, I&rsquo;m very sorry for
+Aurora.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>As he made no comment she went on:</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;She has always been a very sweet, amiable,
+honorable child. I&rsquo;m very fond of her. She
+was very much alone with her books and her
+family. She has always lived in an atmosphere
+of her own&mdash;an atmosphere that she
+made for herself, without companions of her
+own age. Her mother brought her up without
+the slightest knowledge of the guile, the
+deceit, or wickedness of the world in which
+some day she was to live. They used even to
+scan the newspapers before she was permitted
+to read them, and clip out objectionable paragraphs.
+Even I have done that since she has
+been here visiting me. Her father was always
+too busy making money to bother. At the age
+of twenty she is still a dreamer, old in nothing
+but years, living in an idyl of her own, the
+sleeping princess in the fairy-tale whom you,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span>
+the gallant prince, have awakened with a
+kiss.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>DeLaunay&rsquo;s shoulders moved slightly as he
+sighed.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;That kiss, Monsieur! You have awakened
+her,&rdquo; she went on, &ldquo;to what?&rdquo; She paused
+abruptly and turned toward him for a reply.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Your question is hardly flattering to
+my vanity,&rdquo; he said, smiling. &ldquo;There are
+women&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;She is a child.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;All women are children. I shall find
+means to make her happy.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Patricia resumed her study of the fire.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I hope so. With money your opportunities
+for happiness would be greater. Without
+money&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; she paused and shook her
+head slowly.</p>
+
+<p>The Baron turned abruptly, but Patricia&rsquo;s
+gaze was fixed upon the fire. When he spoke
+his tones were suppressed&mdash;his manner constrained.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Madame&mdash;what do you mean?&rdquo;</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>She faced him slowly, her expression gently
+sympathetic.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Have you not heard?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Heard what, Madame?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Of Monsieur North&rsquo;s misfortune&mdash;you
+must have seen it in the newspapers&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;The newspapers! No&mdash;what is it?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Monsieur North has lost his money.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>DeLaunay rose quickly, one hand before
+him as though to ward off a blow.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What you tell me is impossible,&rdquo; he said
+thickly.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No,&rdquo; gravely. &ldquo;It is true.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>He stared at her unbelieving, but her eyes
+met his calmly, eagerly, and in their depths
+he saw only pity.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Would I not have heard this dreadful
+thing, Madame? Aurora would have told me.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;She might have told you if she had
+known.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;She did not know?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;They want to save her the pain. They always
+have. That is one reason why she is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span>
+stopping here with me. Don&rsquo;t you understand?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>DeLaunay showed other signs of inquietude
+and was now pacing the rug nervously.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It is incredible!&rdquo; he was saying, &ldquo;incredible!
+I cannot&mdash;no&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; And he stopped
+before her. &ldquo;No, I will not believe it!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Patricia clasped her hands over her knees
+and was looking very gravely into the fire.
+She had the air of a person who is mourning
+the loss of a very dear friend.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;How do you know this?&rdquo; he asked again,
+anxiously.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;From Mrs. North a week ago, when she
+let Aurora come to me. But it is no secret
+now, as it has been in the newspapers. I have
+kept them from Aurora. She is so happy here
+with you&mdash;I hadn&rsquo;t the heart to do anything
+to destroy her pleasure.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;But North and Company is a very great
+business house. So rich that even in France
+we have heard of them.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes&mdash;Mr. North has been rich for years,&rdquo;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span>
+and then with a sigh, &ldquo;It is very sad&mdash;very,
+very sad.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;But how could such a thing happen?
+Surely he is wise enough&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Speculation!&rdquo; said Patricia, simply. &ldquo;All
+of our business men speculate. Even the oldest&mdash;the
+wisest.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>DeLaunay sank into a chair at some distance,
+his head in his hands. &ldquo;<i>Dieu!</i>&rdquo; she
+heard him mutter. &ldquo;What a terrible country.
+I cannot believe&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Patricia got up at last and walked over and
+put her hand quietly on his shoulder. She
+was even smiling.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I am so sorry, Monsieur. Of course you
+know that, don&rsquo;t you? But I am sure everything
+will turn out for the best. Aurora loves
+you. You must remember that poverty will
+make no difference in the relations between
+you. She will even welcome the chance to
+be poor&mdash;she wants to be of some real use in
+the world&mdash;she has said so&mdash;you had even
+planned that, Monsieur!&rdquo;</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The Frenchman turned just one look in her
+direction, a look in which despair, inquietude,
+inquiry and anger were curiously blended and
+then rose and strode the length of the room
+away.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You are mocking me. You know, Madame&mdash;that&mdash;that
+it is impossible&mdash;this marriage&mdash;if&mdash;what
+you tell me is true.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I wish I could reassure you,&rdquo; slowly.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What proofs have you?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Isn&rsquo;t my word enough?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, but&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You want confirmation. Very well!&rdquo;
+Patricia walked to the library table, opened
+its drawer, and took out the <i>Sun</i> and <i>Herald</i>.
+As she opened them two paper cuttings and
+a pair of scissors fell to the floor. She picked
+them up before DeLaunay could reach her,
+opening the newspapers, both of which bore
+signs of mutilation. And while he wondered
+what she was about to do or say, she resumed
+calmly, even indifferently. &ldquo;I had clipped
+these papers that Aurora might not see them.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span>
+Since you profess some incredulity, perhaps
+you&rsquo;d rather read for yourself.&rdquo; And she
+handed them to him.</p>
+
+<p>He adjusted his monocle with trembling
+fingers, and began reading the slips, his lips
+moving, his eyes dilated, while Patricia
+watched him, her eyes masked by her fingers.
+She saw him read one article through, then
+scan the other, his lips compressed, his small
+chin working forward.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Five million dollars!&rdquo; he whispered at last.
+&ldquo;It is terrible&mdash;terrible. And there will be
+nothing at all.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It looks so, doesn&rsquo;t it?&rdquo; she replied. &ldquo;Read
+on.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>And he read the remainder of it aloud,
+pausing at each sentence as though fascinated
+by the horror of it. When he had read the
+last word, the papers dropped from his fingers
+upon the tea-table beside him. At a grimace
+his eye-glass dropped the length of its
+cord and he stood erect, squaring his shoulders
+and straightening to his small height<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span>
+with the air of a man who has made a resolution.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Madame,&rdquo; he said, more calmly, &ldquo;this is
+very disagreeable news.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s quite sad, isn&rsquo;t it? But I must warn
+you against speaking to Aurora just yet. The
+news is spreading fast enough and to-morrow
+it may be necessary to tell her. In the meanwhile
+you must be gentle with her and
+tender&mdash;you can comfort her so much.
+She will need all your kindness now, Monsieur.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>But DeLaunay had taken out his watch.
+&ldquo;Madame, I thank you for your kindness to
+me, but I am&mdash;I am much perturbed&mdash;I&mdash;I
+do not want to see Miss North until I can
+think what I must do. Would you mind if
+I went in town to my hotel&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;To-night?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes&mdash;to-night.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;She will think it strange for you to go
+without a word.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&mdash;I&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You could leave a note.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You will permit me?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Patricia watched him seat himself heavily
+at her writing-desk.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Monsieur,&rdquo; she asked, &ldquo;what will you say
+to her?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;That I am ill&mdash;that I&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;How will that help either you or her?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>He shrugged his shoulders hopelessly.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What then, Madame?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know,&rdquo; she said, slowly. &ldquo;It is a
+very painful note to write. I am very sorry
+for you, sorry for Miss North, sorry for myself
+that you learned of this through me. It
+is curious that no one told you,&rdquo; she sighed.
+&ldquo;But perhaps it is just as well that you know.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I am grateful, Madame, I cannot tell you
+how grateful,&rdquo; he began, but she held up her
+hand.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It pains me to see Miss North unhappy,
+but I know more of life than she does. I was
+educated in France, Monsieur, and I know
+what is expected of American girls who marry<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span>
+into the <i>ancienne noblesse</i>&mdash;the <i>noblesse de
+souche</i>. Of course, without a <i>dot</i>, this marriage
+is impossible.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, Madame, that is true. It is&mdash;impossible,
+absolutely impossible.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Aurora&mdash;Miss North believes in your love
+for her&mdash;she will hardly understand&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>DeLaunay swung around in his chair and
+rose, facing the hostess.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;There must be no misunderstanding between
+us,&rdquo; decisively, &ldquo;I shall go at once.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s your decision&mdash;your final decision?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It is&mdash;final.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>By this time she stood beside him at the
+desk, and as she spoke her finger pointed to
+the paper and ink.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Then you must write her to-night&mdash;before
+you go. It would not be fair to leave matters
+to me. It is not fair to her or to yourself. Sit
+down, Monsieur, and write.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>He sank into the chair again.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;And what shall I write?&rdquo;</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;If I can help you&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; sweetly.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I will write what you say,&rdquo; with a sigh of
+relief.</p>
+
+<p>So Patricia seated herself beside him and
+with a troubled brow dictated in English.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p class="noi">&ldquo;My dear Miss North:</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I have learned with horror and dismay of
+the great bereavement which has fallen upon
+you and your family, but in view of this misfortune,
+I have thought it wisest to take my
+departure at once.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You will understand, of course, that under
+these conditions it is advisable to discontinue
+our present relations at once, and as my presence
+might prove embarrassing I leave with
+feelings of great unhappiness. You are doubtless
+aware of the customs of my country in the
+matter of settlements, the absence of which
+would preclude the possibility of marriage on
+my part.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Mrs. Crabb has kindly consented to make
+my apologies and excuses to you for my abrupt
+departure which I take with deep regret, the
+deeper because of my profound esteem for
+your many delightful qualities, of which you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span>
+may be assured I shall never cease to think
+with tender and regretful sentiments&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p></div>
+
+<p>Patricia broke off abruptly. &ldquo;I think that
+is all, Monsieur. Will you finish it&mdash;as you
+please?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The baron nodded and added:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>&ldquo;I am, Mademoiselle, with profound assurances
+of my friendship and consideration,</p>
+
+<p class="noi right">
+&ldquo;Yours,&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br />
+&ldquo;Louis Charles Bertram de Chartres,&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br />
+&ldquo;Baron DeLaunay.&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>Patricia meanwhile had ordered the
+Baron&rsquo;s suitcase packed and had &rsquo;phoned for a
+station wagon and a while later stood in the
+hallway speeding the parting guest.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Must you go, Monsieur? I am so very
+sorry. I understand, of course. I am the
+loser.&rdquo; And with all the generosity of a victorious
+general whose enemy is no longer dangerous.
+&ldquo;If you are nice you may kiss my
+hand.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>As DeLaunay bent over her fingers he murmured:
+&ldquo;If it had only been <i>you</i>, Madame.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>And in a moment he had gone.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX</h2>
+
+
+<p class="cap">Patricia stood in the hallway a moment
+looking at the note to Aurora,
+which she held in her fingers. Then
+she went to the desk so recently vacated by her
+guest and wrote steadily for an hour. Her
+thesis was the international marriage, and she
+called it Crabb vs. DeLaunay, enclosing two
+papers, DeLaunay&rsquo;s note and the newspaper
+clippings from her adorable printers. Slips
+of paper were pinned to them, upon one of
+which she had written &ldquo;Exhibit A,&rdquo; and on
+the other &ldquo;Exhibit B.&rdquo; She sealed them all in
+a long envelope addressed to Miss North and
+handed it to Aurora&rsquo;s maid with instructions
+that it should be given to her mistress when
+she had gone up to her room.</p>
+
+<p>From her own bed Patricia heard the motor
+arrive and her husband fuming in the hallway
+below, the sound of Aurora&rsquo;s door closing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span>
+and of Mortimer&rsquo;s heavy footsteps in his own
+quarters; then after awhile, silence. She lay on
+her bed in the dark thinking, listening intently.
+It was long before she was rewarded.
+Then her door opened quietly, and in the
+aperture the night-lamp showed a pale, tear-stained
+face and a slender, girlish figure
+swathed in a pale blue dressing gown.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Patricia!&rdquo; the girl half sobbed, half
+whispered, &ldquo;Patty!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Patricia rose in her bed and took the slender
+figure into her sheltering arms. &ldquo;Aurora&mdash;darling.
+I&rsquo;ve been waiting for you. Can
+you forgive me?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes&mdash;yes,&rdquo; sobbed the girl. &ldquo;I understand.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You were too good for him, Aurora, dear.
+He wasn&rsquo;t worthy of you.&rdquo; And then, as an
+afterthought. &ldquo;But then, I don&rsquo;t know a man
+who is.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Patricia breathed a sigh of relief. She had
+thought it was going to be more difficult.
+She made room for the girl in the bed beside<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span>
+her and soothed and petted her until she fell
+asleep.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Poor Aurora,&rdquo; she murmured softly to
+herself. &ldquo;You were never destined for a life
+like that, child. The man you marry is to be
+an American, a fine, young, healthy animal
+like yourself. I will not tell you his name
+because if I did, you&rsquo;d probably refuse him,
+and of course that would never do. It must
+be managed some way. He&rsquo;s poor, you know,
+dear, but then that won&rsquo;t matter because you
+will have enough for both.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>It did not take Aurora a great while to recover
+from the shock of disillusion and before
+long she was out on the golf links again,
+with her usual happy following. Aurora had
+many virtues as well as accomplishments, and
+Patricia was very fond of her. During the
+winter in the city, she had given a dinner for
+her to which Stephen Ventnor was invited.
+Patricia&rsquo;s plan had succeeded admirably, for
+Ventnor, after several years of indomitable
+faithfulness to the ashes of the mourned Patricia,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span>
+had suddenly come to life. He liked
+Aurora so much that he didn&rsquo;t even take the
+trouble to hide his new emotion from Patricia.
+Patricia sighed, for even now renunciation
+was difficult to her, but when she moved into
+the country for the summer, she held out the
+latch-string to him for the week ends so
+that he could come out every week and play
+golf with Aurora, which showed that
+after all marriage had taught Patricia something.</p>
+
+<p>Patricia had decided that Aurora North
+was to marry Steve Ventnor, and this resolution
+made she left no stone unturned to bring
+the happy event to a consummation. The skilful
+maker of opportunities she remembered
+sometimes trusted to opportunity to make itself.
+Propinquity, she knew, was her first lieutenant
+and the unobtrusive way in which these
+two young people were continually thrown together
+must have been a surprise even to themselves.
+Ventnor took his two weeks of vacation
+in July and spent them at the Crabbs&rsquo;.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span>
+Patricia had thought that those two weeks
+would have brought the happy business to a
+conclusion&mdash;for Aurora was just ready to be
+caught on the rebound, and Ventnor was now
+very much in love. But when Steve&rsquo;s vacation
+was over and he had packed his trunk to go
+mournfully back to town, Patricia knew that
+something had happened to change her well-laid
+plans.</p>
+
+<p>She had never given Jimmy McLemore a
+thought. She had seen the three many times
+during the summer from her bedroom windows,
+Aurora, Steve and McLemore, but the
+thought of Aurora having a tenderness for the
+golfing automaton had never for a moment
+entered her mind. She watched Mr. Ventnor&rsquo;s
+departing back with mingled feelings.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll be out on Saturday as usual, won&rsquo;t
+you, Steve?&rdquo; she asked.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, yes, thank you, Patty,&rdquo; he replied, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll
+be out, if you&rsquo;ll have me. But there isn&rsquo;t
+much use, you know.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t be so meek, Steve!&rdquo; she cried.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;re impossible when you&rsquo;re that way.
+What earthly use did you make of all of my
+training?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Ventnor smiled mournfully.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You didn&rsquo;t begin soon enough, Patty,&rdquo; he
+said.</p>
+
+<p>That pleased Patricia and she made a mental
+resolution that marry Aurora, Steve
+should, if it lay in her power to accomplish
+it.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;There&rsquo;s something wrong with that girl,&rdquo;
+she mused, as she watched Aurora and &ldquo;the
+Sphynx&rdquo;&mdash;as McLemore was familiarly
+called&mdash;playing the fifth hole. &ldquo;Anybody
+who can see anything marriageable in Jimmy
+McLemore, ought to be carefully confined behind
+a garden wall. Jimmy! I would as soon
+think of marrying a statue of Buddha.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The <i>Blue Wing</i> was out of commission for
+the summer. Mortimer insisted that no sane
+man could maintain both a big yacht and a big
+country place. But Patricia was very happy
+and watched the development of Steve Ventnor&rsquo;s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span>
+romance with a jealous eye. She was
+obliged to admit, as the summer lengthened
+into autumn, that after all, the whole thing
+was very much a matter of golf.</p>
+
+<p>Aurora was golf mad, Patricia knew, and
+when Jimmy McLemore ran down a twenty-foot
+putt for a &ldquo;bird&rdquo; on the sixteenth hole,
+thereby winning &ldquo;three up and two&rdquo; from
+Steve Ventnor, the golf championship of the
+Country Club, Patricia detached herself from
+the &ldquo;gallery&rdquo; which had followed the players
+and made her way sadly to the Club House
+veranda. Penelope Wharton, her sister, who
+was fond of Ventnor, followed, the picture of
+dejection. In the morning round Steve had
+been &ldquo;one up&rdquo;; and the hopes of the two
+women had run high that their champion
+would be able to increase his lead during the
+afternoon, or at least to maintain it against
+his redoubtable adversary, but after the first
+few holes the victor had developed one of
+those &ldquo;streaks&rdquo; for which he was famous, and
+though poor old Steve had played a steady<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span>
+up-hill game, the luck went against him and
+he knew at the tenth hole that unless McLemore
+fell over in a fit, the gold cup was lost&mdash;for
+that year at least.</p>
+
+<p>Patricia realized, too, that the famous gold
+cup might not be the only prize at stake.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;And now,&rdquo; she said wrathfully, &ldquo;she&rsquo;ll
+probably marry that <i>person</i>.&rdquo; Mr. McLemore
+would have withered could he have seen the
+expression in Patricia&rsquo;s eyes, for when Patricia
+called any human being a &ldquo;person,&rdquo; it
+meant that her thoughts were unutterable.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I suppose so,&rdquo; said Penelope.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve no patience with Aurora North,&rdquo; said
+Patty, &ldquo;she&rsquo;s absolutely lacking in a sense of
+proportion. Imagine letting one&rsquo;s life happiness
+hang on the fate of a single putt.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;And Steve is <i>such</i> a dear.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;He is, that&rsquo;s the worst of it&mdash;and they&rsquo;re
+eminently fitted for each other in every way&mdash;by
+birth, breeding, and circumstances. As a
+sportsman Jimmy may be a success, but as a
+gentleman&mdash;as a lover&mdash;as a <i>husband</i>&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Patricia&rsquo;s two brown hands were raised in
+protest toward Olympus. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s odious, Pen,
+a case for a grand jury&mdash;or a coroner!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Aurora is too nice a girl,&rdquo; sighed Penelope.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Nice! In everything but discrimination.
+That&rsquo;s the peril of being an &lsquo;out-of-door girl.&rsquo;
+The more muscle, the less gray matter. That
+kind of thing disturbs the balance of power.&rdquo;
+Patricia sighed&mdash;&ldquo;Oh, I tried it and I know.
+A woman with too much muscle is like an
+over-rigged yawl&mdash;all right in light airs, but
+dangerous in a blow. What&rsquo;s the use? Our
+greatest strength after all, is weakness.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sure you couldn&rsquo;t convince Aurora of
+that&mdash;nor Steve.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know,&rdquo; said Patricia, slowly, &ldquo;but
+I&rsquo;d like to try.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Further talk was interrupted by the arrival
+of the crowd from the fair-green, thirsty and
+controversial. Steve Ventnor, like the good
+loser that he was, had been the first to shake
+McLemore by the hand in congratulation, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span>
+if he was heavy of heart, his smiling face gave
+no sign of it. For the present, at least, he had
+abandoned the field to his conqueror who
+brought up the rear of the &ldquo;gallery&rdquo; with
+Aurora, accepting handshakes right and left
+with the changeless dignity which had gained
+him his sobriquet of &ldquo;Sphynx.&rdquo; At the veranda
+steps Mortimer Crabb took him in tow
+and brought him to the table where Penelope
+and Patricia were mournfully absorbing lemonade.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Too bad, Steve,&rdquo; said Patricia with a
+brightness that failed to deceive. &ldquo;Nobody
+with mere blood in his veins can expect to
+compete with a hydraulic ram. He&rsquo;s a wonderful
+piece of mechanism&mdash;Jimmy is&mdash;but
+I&rsquo;m always tortured with the fear that he may
+forget to wind himself up some morning.
+Mort, couldn&rsquo;t you have dropped a little sand
+in his bearings?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, he&rsquo;s got plenty of sand,&rdquo; said Crabb
+generously.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;s a cracking good golfer,&rdquo; said Steve,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span>
+looking reprovingly at Patricia. &ldquo;He&rsquo;s the
+better man, that&rsquo;s all.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>He sank beside Patricia while Crabb had
+a steward take the orders.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No,&rdquo; muttered Patricia. &ldquo;Not that, not
+the better man, only the better golfer, Steve.&rdquo;
+And then with a sudden and mystifying
+change of manner, &ldquo;Do you know why he always
+wears a crimson vest?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No&mdash;I&rsquo;ve never thought,&rdquo; replied Steve.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s very&mdash;un&mdash;er&mdash;unprofessional&mdash;isn&rsquo;t
+it?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It isn&rsquo;t what a man wears that wins holes,
+you know, Patty.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, no,&rdquo; she said, carelessly, &ldquo;I was just
+wondering&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Mortimer Crabb, unofficial host of the occasion,
+had beckoned to Aurora and McLemore,
+who now joined the party. Steve
+Ventnor rose as the girl approached and their
+eyes met. Aurora&rsquo;s eyes were the color of
+lapis-lazuli, but the deep tan of her skin made
+them seem several shades lighter. They were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span>
+handsome eyes, very clear and expressive, and
+at important moments like the present ones
+her long lashes effectually screened what
+might have been read in their depths.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sorry, Steve,&rdquo; she said gently. &ldquo;You
+didn&rsquo;t have enough practice.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Are you really?&rdquo; asked Steve. He bent his
+head forward and said something for Aurora&rsquo;s
+ears alone, at which her lids dropped
+still further and the ends of her lips curved
+demurely. But she did not reply, and turned
+in evident relief when Crabb made a hospitable
+suggestion.</p>
+
+<p>Patricia watched the by-play with interest.
+She had followed the romance with mingled
+feelings, for it was apparent that the triangle
+which had been equilateral in the spring was
+now distorted out of all semblance to its
+former shape, with poor Steve getting the
+worst of it. The reason was clear. The
+Sphynx was rich and so could afford to
+play golf with Aurora every day of the year
+if he wished, while Steve Ventnor, who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span>
+spent his daylight hours selling bonds in
+the city, had to make the most of his Saturday
+and Sunday afternoons. It was really too
+bad.</p>
+
+<p>But the Sphynx only smiled his unhumorous
+smile, and went on playing golf during
+the week when Ventnor was at work. Propinquity
+had done a damage which even Patricia,
+with all her worldliness, could not find
+available means to repair. But she joined
+good-humoredly in the toasts to the new club
+champion who was accepting his honors carelessly,
+keeping her eyes meanwhile on Jimmy
+McLemore&rsquo;s crimson vest. That vest was a
+part of Jimmy&rsquo;s golf, as much a part of it
+as his tauric glasses, his preliminary wiggle
+on the tee, or his maddening precision on the
+putting-green. It fascinated her somehow,
+almost to the exclusion of the gayety in which
+she rightfully had a part.</p>
+
+<p>The gold cup was brought forth and passed
+from hand to hand. As it came to Patricia
+she looked at it inside and out, read the inscription<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span>
+leisurely, then handed it carelessly
+to her neighbor.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Chaste and quite expensive,&rdquo; was her comment.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, I think it&rsquo;s beautiful,&rdquo; said Aurora,
+reprovingly.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;<i>Chaque enfant ą son gou gou</i>, my dear,&rdquo;
+said Patricia. &ldquo;You know, Aurora, I never
+did approve of golf prizes&mdash;especially valuable
+ones. After all, golf is merely a game&mdash;not
+a religion. It&rsquo;s the habit in this club to
+consider a golf cup with the same kind of an
+eye that one gives to a possible seat in Paradise.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Even Steve Ventnor thought Patricia&rsquo;s remarks
+in bad taste.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;If Jimmy plays the game of life the way
+he played golf to-day,&rdquo; he laughed, &ldquo;he&rsquo;ll
+have an eighteen-karat halo, and no mistake.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Patty!&rdquo; exclaimed Miss North, reprovingly.
+&ldquo;You know you don&rsquo;t believe a word
+you say. You love golf prizes. Why you&rsquo;re
+always giving the Bachelors&rsquo; Cup, and this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span>
+year you&rsquo;ve presented the cup for the &lsquo;Affinity
+Foursomes.&rsquo; Besides, you&rsquo;ve won at least
+three prizes yourself.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve reformed,&rdquo; said Patricia, decisively.
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve lost patience with golf. I haven&rsquo;t any
+interest in a game that requires the elimination
+of all human attributes.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What on earth are you talking about?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;One can&rsquo;t be entirely human and play a
+good game of golf, that&rsquo;s all,&rdquo; she announced.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s rough on McLemore,&rdquo; laughed
+Mortimer.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s human to be irritated, human to be
+angry, human to have nerves, human to make
+mistakes. I&rsquo;ve no patience with people who
+can&rsquo;t lose their tempers.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m apt to lose mine, if you keep calling
+me names,&rdquo; said the Sphynx, affably.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You couldn&rsquo;t, Jimmy,&rdquo; said Patricia, soberly.
+&ldquo;Anyone who can make the tenth,
+eleventh and twelfth in eleven playing out of
+two bunkers will never lose his temper in this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span>
+world&mdash;or anything else,&rdquo; she added, <i>sotto
+voce</i>.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;There won&rsquo;t be any more Bachelors&rsquo; Cups,
+then?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Not if I can help it. At least not for the
+Ancient and Honorable Game as we play it
+now. The Bachelors&rsquo; Cup this fall will be
+played for across country.&rdquo; The members
+of the party examined her as though they believed
+she had suddenly been bereft of her
+senses&mdash;all but her husband, who knew that in
+being surprised at Patty, one was wasting
+valuable energy, but even Mortimer was
+mildly curious.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Across country!&rdquo; they asked.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Exactly. I&rsquo;m going to invest the game
+with a real sporting interest, develop the possibilities
+of the niblick, eliminate the merely
+mechanical, introduce a stronger element of
+chance. The course will be laid out like a
+&lsquo;drag.&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;With an anise-seed bag?&rdquo; queried Crabb.</p>
+
+<p>Patricia withered her husband with a look.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span>
+&ldquo;With scraps of paper,&rdquo; she asserted, firmly.
+&ldquo;The course will be four miles long over good
+hunting country.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You can&rsquo;t mean it,&rdquo; said McLemore.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I do. It&rsquo;s quite feasible.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, but&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a good sporting proposition,&rdquo; said
+Aurora North, suddenly kindling to interest.
+&ldquo;Why not?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Ventnor and McLemore only smiled amusedly,
+as became true golfers.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh you can laugh, you two. Why not give
+it a trial? Just to make it interesting I&rsquo;ll offer
+a cup for the Club champion and runner-up.
+It will be a pretty cup&mdash;and Aurora and I will
+caddy.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Willingly,&rdquo; laughed Aurora.</p>
+
+<p>There the matter stopped. It was a joke, of
+course, and both men realized it, but any joke
+in which Aurora North had a part was the
+joke for them. A week passed before Patricia
+completed her plans and in the meanwhile
+everybody had forgotten all about her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span>
+amazing proposition. It was, therefore, with
+surprise and not a little amusement that McLemore
+and Ventnor received the dainty notice
+in Patricia&rsquo;s handwriting, which advised
+them that the Cross Country Match would be
+played off on the following Thursday afternoon,
+at two o&rsquo;clock. Jimmy McLemore
+smiled at a photograph on the desk in his library,
+but later in the day after a talk over
+the telephone with Aurora he got a mashie,
+and a heavy mid-iron from his bag and went
+out in his own cow-pasture to practice. Steve
+Ventnor in his office in the city turned the
+note over in his fingers and frowned. Thursday
+was his busiest day, but he realized that
+he had given his promise and that if McLemore
+played he must. It was a very silly business.
+Several things mystified him, however.
+What did Patricia mean, for instance, by the
+absurd lines at the bottom of his invitation?
+&ldquo;Aurora will caddy for you; and don&rsquo;t wear a
+crimson vest&mdash;there&rsquo;s nothing to be gained by
+it.&rdquo;</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>On a slip of paper enclosed were the <i>local
+rules</i>:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">(1) The first ball and every fourth ball thereafter
+may be played from a rubber tee.</p>
+
+<p class="hang">(2) A ball in &ldquo;casual&rdquo; water may be lifted
+and dropped without penalty.</p>
+
+<p class="hang">(3) Running brooks, ponds, rocks, fences,
+etc., are natural hazards, and must be
+played over as such.</p>
+
+<p class="hang">(4) A lost ball means the loss of one stroke,
+but not of distance. A ball may be
+dropped within twenty-five yards of
+the spot where ball disappeared.</p>
+
+<p class="hang">(5) <i>The match must be finished</i> within four
+hours. The competitor who for any
+reason fails to finish loses the match.</p></div>
+
+<p>Steve Ventnor smiled as he read, but in
+spite of his golf sense, which is like no other
+sense in the world, felt himself gently warming
+to the project. He would go of course&mdash;for
+Aurora was to caddy for him.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX</h2>
+
+
+<p class="cap">Even Mortimer Crabb was excluded
+from that charming luncheon of
+four. It was very informal and
+great was the merriment at Patricia&rsquo;s expense,
+but through it all she smiled calmly
+at their scepticism&mdash;as Columbus at Salamanca
+must have smiled, if he ever did, or
+Newton or Edison, or any others of the
+world&rsquo;s great innovators.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cross-country golf,&rdquo; she continued proudly
+to assert, &ldquo;is the golf of the New Era.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Do you really mean it, Patty?&rdquo; asked Aurora
+seriously, when the men had gone upstairs
+to change.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Of course I do, Aurora. The Ancient and
+Honorable Game has its limitations. Cross-country
+golf has none. You&rsquo;ll see, my dear,
+in ten years, they&rsquo;ll be playing distance
+matches between New York and Philadelphia&mdash;the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span>
+fewest strokes in the shortest time&mdash;that
+<i>will</i> be a game.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;And who&rsquo;ll pay for the lost balls?&rdquo; asked
+Aurora, laughing.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;That, Aurora,&rdquo; replied Patricia with a
+touch of dignity, &ldquo;is something with which I
+am remotely concerned.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The men came down stairs dressed for the
+fray, grinning broadly, and Patricia, after a
+glance at McLemore&rsquo;s red vest, took up his
+golf bag with a business-like air and led the
+way to the terrace. The Sphynx blinked
+through his tauric glasses at her unresponsive
+back silhouetted in the doorway, but as Aurora
+had taken Steve&rsquo;s bag, he followed
+meekly, submitting to the inevitable. Outside,
+Patricia was indicating a rift in the
+row of maples which bordered her vegetable
+garden, through which was to be
+seen the brown sweep of the meadow beyond.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;The drive is through there. You&rsquo;ll get the
+direction marks for your second. The distance<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span>
+is four miles. The finish is on Aurora&rsquo;s
+lawn&mdash;the putting-green near the rear portico
+of the house. Drive off, gentlemen.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The honor was Mr. McLemore&rsquo;s. With a
+saddish smile, half of pity and half of a protest
+for his outraged golfing dignity, he took
+his bag from Patricia, and with a frugality
+which did him credit, upturned the bag on
+the lawn, spilling out a miscellany of old balls
+which he had saved for practice strokes. Selecting
+half a dozen, he stuffed five of them
+in his pockets, returned the newer ones to his
+bag and scorning the rubber tee which Patricia
+offered him, dropped a ball over his
+shoulder and took his cleek out of his bag.
+Each act was sportsman-like&mdash;a fine expression
+of the golfing spirit.</p>
+
+<p>The drive went straight&mdash;and they saw it
+bouncing coquettishly up the meadow beyond.
+Steve, with the munificence which only poverty
+knows, brought forth a new ball, took
+the rubber tee and, with his driver, got
+off a long low one which cleared the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span>
+bushes and vanished over the brow of the
+hill.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;A new golfing era has begun,&rdquo; said Patricia,
+with the air of a prophet.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;If I ever find my ball,&rdquo; said Ventnor, dubiously.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What do you care, Steve, as long as you&rsquo;re
+making history?&rdquo; laughed Aurora, with a sly
+glance at their hostess.</p>
+
+<p>Patricia, unperturbed, led the way through
+a breach in the hedge and out into the sunlight
+where she raised a crimson parasol, which no
+one had noticed before.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;My complexion,&rdquo; she explained to Aurora.
+&ldquo;One can&rsquo;t be too careful when one gets to be&mdash;ahem&mdash;thirty.
+Besides, it just matches
+Jimmy&rsquo;s vest.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The grass in the pasture was short and McLemore
+played his brassey&mdash;his caddy instructing
+him as to the ground on the other
+side, which fell gently down to a brook he
+could not reach.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I got that one away,&rdquo; said McLemore, livening<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span>
+to his task. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s not really bad going
+at all.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Patricia smiled gratefully, but made no response,
+for Steve, a little further on, was in a
+hole and had to play out with a mashie, which
+he did with consummate skill, the ball rolling
+down the hill thirty yards short of McLemore&rsquo;s.</p>
+
+<p>From the hilltop they could easily see the
+line of the paper chase which Patricia had
+laid when she rode over the course yesterday.
+It stretched across the lower end
+of the Renwick&rsquo;s meadows along the road,
+crossing two streams, bordered with willow
+trees and led straight for Waterman&rsquo;s stone
+quarry. Ventnor played a careful mid-iron
+which cleared the brook and bounded forward
+into the meadow beyond; but McLemore
+overreached himself trying for distance and
+found the brook, losing his ball and two
+strokes; but he teed up, having played five
+and lay six well down the meadow, within
+carrying distance of the second stream. But<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span>
+Steve, playing steadily, passed him with his
+fourth, a long cleek shot which fell just short
+of the stream.</p>
+
+<p>Beyond the creek was the hill to the quarry,
+three shots for McLemore, two long ones for
+Ventnor. With excellent judgment McLemore
+played safely over the creek with a mid-iron,
+reaching the brink of the quarry in two
+more, which gave him a chance to tee up on
+his ninth for the long drive across. Steve
+Ventnor was less fortunate, dribbling his sixth
+up the hill, fifty yards short of the quarry,
+into which, trying a long cleek shot to clear
+it, he unfortunately drove. He waited to see
+the Sphynx carefully tee his ball and send it
+straight down the course which Patricia indicated,
+and then taking the bag from his
+caddy helped her into the path which zig-zagged
+down to where his ball lay, a hundred
+feet below.</p>
+
+<p>Patricia and the Sphynx had chosen the
+shorter way through the woods at the upper
+end and Steve and Aurora were alone.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>At the bottom of the slope behind a projecting
+crag Steve stopped and faced his
+companion.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Aurora,&rdquo; he said.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, Steve.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Is it true you&rsquo;re going to marry McLemore?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Aurora picked a flower which grew in a
+ledge beside her before she replied.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Why do you ask?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I thought I&rsquo;d like to know, that&rsquo;s all. People
+say you are&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;<i>I</i> haven&rsquo;t said so.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Then,&rdquo; eagerly, &ldquo;you aren&rsquo;t?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t see what right you&rsquo;ve got to ask.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I haven&rsquo;t&mdash;only I thought I&rsquo;d like to be
+the first to congratulate him.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, is that all?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;And I thought I&rsquo;d like to tell you again
+that I love you better than anybody could&mdash;and
+that I always will, even if you marry him.
+He&rsquo;s a very nice fellow but&mdash;but I&rsquo;ll be very
+unhappy&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Will you? I don&rsquo;t believe it.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Why do you say that?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Because you&rsquo;re too cool about it. You
+wouldn&rsquo;t think he was such a nice fellow if
+you were jealous of him. Why haven&rsquo;t you
+played more with me this summer?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I had to work&mdash;you know that. What&rsquo;s
+the use&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;If you love me as you say you do, I don&rsquo;t
+see how you could be so cool about&mdash;about
+seeing us together&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Perhaps I wasn&rsquo;t as cool as I looked. See
+here, Aurora, you mustn&rsquo;t talk like that.&rdquo; He
+had turned and before she could escape him,
+had taken her in his arms and was kissing her.
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t say I&rsquo;m cool. I love you, Aurora, with
+every ounce that&rsquo;s in me. I want you more
+than I can ever want anything again in this
+world or the next. I&rsquo;m not going to let you
+marry that fellow or anybody else&mdash;do you
+understand?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>She had yielded for a moment to his
+warmth because there didn&rsquo;t seem to be anything<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span>
+else to do. But when she slowly disengaged
+herself from his arms and faced him
+her eyes were wet and the color flamed
+through her tan.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Steve!&rdquo; she stammered. &ldquo;Steve!&mdash;how
+could you?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>But he still faced her passionately, undaunted.
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s true,&rdquo; he said huskily. &ldquo;I
+love you&mdash;you can&rsquo;t marry him&mdash;I won&rsquo;t let
+you&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>He took a step forward but this time she
+retreated.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t, Steve&mdash;not again&mdash;not now&mdash;you
+mustn&rsquo;t. They&rsquo;ll be coming out in the open
+there in a moment. I&rsquo;ll never say you are
+cool again&mdash;never&mdash;after that. You&rsquo;re not
+cool&mdash;not in the least&mdash;I was mistaken. I&rsquo;ve
+never seen you&mdash;like this before&mdash;you&rsquo;re different&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You made me do it. I couldn&rsquo;t stand
+your saying I didn&rsquo;t care. I&rsquo;m not sorry,&rdquo;
+he went on, &ldquo;he couldn&rsquo;t love you the way I
+do.&rdquo;</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I think perhaps you&rsquo;re right,&rdquo; said Aurora
+coolly. &ldquo;In the meantime&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Won&rsquo;t you give me an answer?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;In the meanwhile,&rdquo; she went on, preening
+her disordered hair, &ldquo;<a href="#image04">you are supposed to be
+playing the golf of the New Era</a>&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 360px;">
+<a name="image04" id="image04">
+<img src="images/image04.jpg" width="360" height="600" alt="&ldquo;&lsquo;You are supposed to be playing the golf of the New Era.&rsquo;&rdquo;" title="&ldquo;&lsquo;You are supposed to be playing the golf of the New Era.&rsquo;&rdquo;" /></a><br />
+<span class="caption">&ldquo;&lsquo;<a href="#Page_256">You are supposed to be playing the golf of the New Era.</a>&rsquo;&rdquo;</span>
+</div>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Aurora&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No,&rdquo; she had taken up his golf bag and
+was walking away.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Won&rsquo;t you answer me?&rdquo; he pleaded.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Get your ball out of this quarry,&rdquo; she said,
+relentlessly, &ldquo;and I&rsquo;ll think about it.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>It took Steve Ventnor thirteen strokes to
+play out of that quarry, which, for a fellow
+with a record of seventy-two at Apawomeck,
+was &ldquo;going it.&rdquo; The first stroke he missed
+clean; the second he sliced into a clay-bank;
+his third struck the rocks and bounded back
+against the wall behind him, finding lodgment
+at last in some bushes where he took three
+more. To make matters worse, Aurora was
+laughing at him, hysterically, unrestrainedly,
+and Patricia and the Sphynx, who had appeared<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span>
+on the path above, were joining in the
+merriment.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, I&rsquo;ll lift,&rdquo; he growled at last.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You can&rsquo;t,&rdquo; laughed Aurora. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s against
+the rules.&rdquo; And Patricia appealed to, confirmed
+the statement.</p>
+
+<p>Three more swings he took, each of them
+in impossible lies, the last of which smashed
+his niblick. After that there followed a period
+of strange calmness&mdash;of desperation, while he
+worked his ball into a good lie on the far side
+of the quarry from which, with a fine mashie
+shot he lifted it over the cliffs and into the
+open beyond.</p>
+
+<p>Steve Ventnor toiled wearily up the hill
+at the heels of his caddy, struggling for his
+lost composure. He caught up with Aurora
+at a point half-way up where he took the golf
+bag from her shoulder and faced her again.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Won&rsquo;t you answer me, Aurora?&rdquo; he
+pleaded, breathlessly.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No, I won&rsquo;t,&rdquo; she said, calmly. &ldquo;You
+swore&mdash;horribly&mdash;in the bushes.&rdquo;</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I heard you,&rdquo; firmly. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll never marry
+a man who swears,&rdquo; and she hurried on.
+When Ventnor joined the others, he found
+Patricia sitting on a rock making up the score,
+which at the present moment stood: Ventnor&mdash;20;
+McLemore&mdash;9.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;How do you like it, Steve?&rdquo; asked Patricia,
+still figuring.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, it&rsquo;s great!&rdquo; said Steve, ironically,
+holding up his shattered niblick. &ldquo;I like
+granite, it&rsquo;s so spongy.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m afraid you&rsquo;ve got a bad temper,
+Steve.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>But Ventnor had taken out his pipe, lit it
+and was now doggedly moving toward his
+ball.</p>
+
+<p>The luck favored him on his next volley,
+for playing two mid-irons down the hill, he
+reached the level meadow below safely, while
+McLemore sliced his second into a row of hot
+frames, where an indignant horticulturist and
+two dogs contributed an interesting mental<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span>
+hazard. But the Sphynx handed the farmer
+a dollar in exchange for lacerated feelings and
+glass, and the match went on. Over the brook
+McLemore lay thirteen, having &ldquo;dubbed&rdquo;
+his shot into the stream, but playing steadily
+after that reached the top of the long hill before
+them, safely in four more; while Ventnor
+lost his ball in the bushes and was now playing
+twenty-five.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI</h2>
+
+
+<p class="cap">From there on, the luck varied and at
+the Stockbridge farm the score stood
+McLemore, 21; Ventnor, 30. It seemed
+a difficult lead to overcome, for the Sphynx
+was playing straight with a mid-iron, while
+Steve, whose only hope lay in getting distance,
+had twice pulled into rough grass, which cost
+him lost balls and extra strokes. The wonder
+was how he played at all, for Aurora had refused
+to marry him three times in the last
+twenty minutes. The result was inevitable,
+and so like the man in the adage, after playing
+thirty-eight strokes, he &ldquo;went up in the
+air,&rdquo; missing shot after shot and relinquishing
+all claim to consideration, playing on only
+because fate seemed to demand it of him.</p>
+
+<p>At the Van Westervelt&rsquo;s fence both men
+got off &ldquo;good ones,&rdquo; landing well in the middle
+of the pasture and had gone forward into
+the field, their caddies close behind them,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span>
+when from the shelter of a clump of trees
+along the stream to their left, there emerged a
+shadow. Aurora saw it first.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a bull,&rdquo; she said.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No, it&rsquo;s only a cow,&rdquo; ventured the Sphynx,
+whose tauric glasses were not adjusted to distances&mdash;or
+to bulls.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sure it&rsquo;s a bull,&rdquo; repeated Aurora.</p>
+
+<p>Steve glanced at the beast over his shoulder,
+and then took a brassey from his bag.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;He won&rsquo;t bother us,&rdquo; he muttered. But
+the animal was approaching majestically,
+pausing now and then to paw up the dirt with
+his front hoofs and throwing a cloud of dust
+over his back.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s your parasol, Patty,&rdquo; said Aurora.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Or Jimmy&rsquo;s vest,&rdquo; put in Patricia.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;d better run for it, you and Aurora,&rdquo;
+said Ventnor. &ldquo;You can easily make the
+fence.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;And you?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m going to play this shot. It&rsquo;s the prettiest
+lie I&rsquo;ve had all day.&rdquo;</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Come, Aurora,&rdquo; said Patricia, taking up
+her bag. &ldquo;There&rsquo;s no time to lose. He&rsquo;s
+really coming this way,&rdquo; and gathering up her
+golf bag and skirts, she ran. The Sphynx,
+meanwhile, still holding his mid-iron in his
+hand, was undecided. His ball was twenty
+yards further on, and his eyes shifted uneasily
+from the bull to an old apple-tree within a
+reaching distance. The women by this time
+had reached a convenient stile and were
+perched upon it shouting.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Run, Steve!&rdquo; they cried. &ldquo;He&rsquo;s coming!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Ventnor, who was addressing his ball,
+glanced up for a moment and then swung. It
+was the prettiest shot that he had made all
+day, for the ball started with a low trajectory
+and soared and soared, clearing the fence
+on the far side of the field, a carry of two
+hundred yards, and landed in the next
+meadow. Then he turned, club in hand, and
+looked at the bull which now stood twenty
+paces away, eying them viciously. It was too
+late to make a sprint for the fence, and like<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span>
+McLemore, Steve wistfully eyed the apple-tree.
+But he brandished his brassey manfully
+and prepared to jump aside if the bull lowered
+his head and rushed him. It was at this
+moment that Jimmy McLemore, white as a
+sheet, made up his mind to run. Jimmy&rsquo;s red
+vest decided the matter, and scorning Ventnor,
+with a bellow which lent wings to Jimmy&rsquo;s
+feet, the brute lowered its thick head and
+charged, passing like a tornado under the limb
+to which McLemore had fled for safety.
+Steve Ventnor forgot to be frightened and
+stood leaning on his club roaring with laughter,
+for the Sphynx&rsquo;s dignity had always been
+a fearful and wonderful thing to him. He
+heard the voices of the women behind him,
+pleading with him to run, but in his heart
+Steve Ventnor made a mighty resolution that
+run he would not. He had no dignity like
+Jimmy&rsquo;s to lose, but the spectacle Jimmy made
+decided him. It took some strength of mind
+to moderate his pace as he picked up Patricia&rsquo;s
+red parasol and walked toward the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span>
+fence. The bull however, refused to be distracted,
+and stood pawing the ground beneath
+the apple-tree, bellowing up at the soles of the
+Sphynx&rsquo;s boots and making havoc of the beautiful
+Campbell mid-iron, which was the only
+thing of Jimmy&rsquo;s that he could touch.</p>
+
+<p>The women on the stile were laughing, Patricia
+frankly, uncontrollably, Aurora nervously,
+looking at Steve as he came up with a
+queer little anxious wrinkle between her eyebrows.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I haven&rsquo;t any patience with you,&rdquo; she said.
+&ldquo;You might have been gored to death.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Ventnor was still laughing. &ldquo;I never saw
+Jimmy run before,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;We&rsquo;ll have to
+get him out of that somehow. I think I&rsquo;ll
+have a try at it with Patricia&rsquo;s parasol.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>But Patricia quickly snatched it from his
+hand. Her little drama had worked out far
+more beautifully than she had ever hoped it
+would, and she didn&rsquo;t propose to have it
+ruined now.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Nothing of the sort,&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;You may<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span>
+do whatever you like with your own skin, but
+that is a perfectly good French parasol, and
+it&rsquo;s mine.&rdquo; And she put it behind her back.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile the Sphynx was pelting the
+brute below him with apples and shouting
+anathema, both of which rolled from the animal&rsquo;s
+impervious back, as he circled angrily
+around the tree, up which he showed every
+disposition to climb. From tragic-comedy the
+scene had degenerated into broadest farce.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s like Sothern playing a part of Georgie
+Cohan&rsquo;s,&rdquo; commented Patricia, sweetly. &ldquo;Is
+he apt to be there all day?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It looks so,&rdquo; said Aurora, struggling between
+anxiety and laughter. &ldquo;We really
+ought to do something.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>But Patricia had settled herself comfortably
+on the top rail of the fence. Things were
+going very much to her liking.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What?&rdquo; she asked.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Tell somebody. There&rsquo;s a wagon coming
+this way now.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;But how about the Cross-Country Cup?&rdquo;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span>
+looking at her watch. &ldquo;There&rsquo;s only an hour
+and a half to finish in.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;But we can&rsquo;t leave him up there,&rdquo; said
+Steve, more seriously. &ldquo;That bull will be
+there until&mdash;until the cows come home.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Jimmy is perfectly safe,&rdquo; said Patricia,
+&ldquo;unless he goes to sleep and falls out; and he
+can&rsquo;t starve unless he throws all the apples
+at the bull.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Patty, you&rsquo;re heartless,&rdquo; said Aurora, but
+she laughed when she said it.</p>
+
+<p>The farmer who came along in the wagon
+took in the situation at a glance and laughing
+more loudly than any of them, consented at
+last to drive to the barnyard and tell the
+farmer.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It won&rsquo;t do any good,&rdquo; he said, sagely.
+&ldquo;That bull won&rsquo;t go back until he follows the
+cows at milking time. He might quit before
+that&mdash;I dunno. I&rsquo;ll do what I can though.&rdquo;
+And with a laconic chirrup to his nag, he departed
+in the direction of the Van Westervelts&rsquo;
+farmyard.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The party of three followed him with their
+eyes until he had disappeared in a cloud of
+dust and then examined the apple-tree from
+which the Sphynx&rsquo;s legs dangled hopelessly.
+The rest of him was hidden among the leaves.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Until the cows come home,&rdquo; said Patricia,
+solemnly, and looking into one another&rsquo;s eyes
+all three of them burst into shameless laughter.
+And with that laugh free-masonry was
+established. It was plainly to be read in Aurora&rsquo;s
+eyes. The toppling of Jimmy&rsquo;s dignity
+had been too much for her own sense of
+gravity.</p>
+
+<p>Patricia meanwhile had taken out her
+watch. &ldquo;This, my dear children,&rdquo; she said,
+indicating with a fine gesture, the Sphynx&rsquo;s
+apple-tree, &ldquo;is one of the hazards of the New
+Game of Golf. There is only an hour and a
+half to finish in. Play the game, you two, I
+must wait.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It wouldn&rsquo;t be the sporting thing,&rdquo; said
+Steve, struggling with a desire to obey.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;d like to know who is as good a judge<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span>
+of the rules of a game as its inventor,&rdquo; said
+Patricia. &ldquo;Am I right, Aurora?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Aurora by this time was fingering at the
+strap of Ventnor&rsquo;s golf bag. &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she decided,
+&ldquo;as Patricia says, it&rsquo;s in the game.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Steve glanced at her quickly, joyfully, but
+her head was lowered and she was already
+down the steps of the stile and walking along
+the road toward the adjoining meadow. Ventnor&rsquo;s
+eyes met Patricia&rsquo;s for the fraction of a
+second of wireless telegraphy, after which
+Steve plunged down the steps and followed
+his caddy.</p>
+
+<p>The gabled roof of Augustus North&rsquo;s house
+was visible above the trees scarcely half a
+mile away, but the paper chase led to it by
+devious, sequestered ways, which Steve Ventnor
+and his caddy scrupulously followed.
+Many times on the way they stopped in the
+shadow of the trees, and but a few minutes of
+time remained when Steve ran down his putt.
+It had taken him just one hundred and three
+shots to do that last nine hundred yards in an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span>
+hour and forty minutes. His caddy counted
+them; which only went to prove her a conscientious
+person, for under the circumstances
+book-keeping was a difficult matter.</p>
+
+<p>Perched upon her stile, in smiling patience
+Patricia waited &ldquo;until the cows came home,&rdquo;
+while Mortimer Crabb, who had been notified
+over the telephone of the disaster, drove
+up to see the final chapter in Jimmy McLemore&rsquo;s
+undoing. For the farmer came and at
+some pains extracted him from his perilous
+post. The Crabbs drove McLemore to his
+home in their motor and then ran over to the
+Norths to hear how the cross-country match
+had finished. The happy couple met them at
+the steps.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;The ball is in the hole, Patty, dear,&rdquo; said
+Steve Ventnor. &ldquo;Do I win the Cup?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You do,&rdquo; said Patricia, looking at her
+watch, &ldquo;by three hours and a half. And it&rsquo;s
+a loving-cup, Steve, with cupids and things,
+I had it made especially for you and Aurora.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Aurora kissed Patricia with enthusiasm.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;How did you know, Patty, it was to be
+Steve?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Simplest thing imaginable! Because Steve
+is the most adorable boy, always excepting
+Mort, that was ever born&mdash;and then you
+know, Aurora&mdash;you couldn&rsquo;t have married
+Jimmy!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s true,&rdquo; said Aurora, thinking of Jimmy&rsquo;s
+legs in the apple-tree, &ldquo;I really couldn&rsquo;t.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Steve refused to return to the Crabbs&rsquo; to
+dinner, so the Makers of Opportunities departed
+alone. Mortimer drove slowly through
+the gathering dusk and Patricia sat silent.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Are you happy, Patty?&rdquo; he asked, at last.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No, of course not,&rdquo; said Patricia, pinching
+his ear, &ldquo;you know I&rsquo;m never happy with you,
+Mort.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Aren&rsquo;t you getting a little tired of putting
+the world in order?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, yes. But young people are <i>so</i> provoking.
+They can never make up their own
+minds, and you know <i>somebody</i> has to do it
+for them.&rdquo;</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Haven&rsquo;t you ever wondered how the world
+would get on without you?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No, but sometimes I&rsquo;ve wondered how
+you would.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I? Ah! I wouldn&rsquo;t get on at all. And
+yet you know there&rsquo;s a responsibility in being
+married to a Dea ex Machina.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What, please?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;The machinery may run down.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;And then?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;The goddess may end in the ditch.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Mort!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Or get a blow-out&mdash;you came near it,
+Patty.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t, Mort&mdash;ever.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;How about&mdash;&mdash;?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>He was going to say John Doe, but she put
+her fingers over his lips so that he only mumbled.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No, Mort&mdash;I&rsquo;m a prudent goddess&mdash;a
+chauffeuse extraordinary.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sure of that, but&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;But what?&rdquo;</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No car can endure so long out of the
+garage.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;re a silly old thing.&rdquo; She sighed
+comfortably and leaned her head over on his
+shoulder. In a moment she spoke again. &ldquo;I
+think you&rsquo;re quite right though, Mort.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Aren&rsquo;t you tired of making opportunities
+for other people?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>She made a sound that he understood.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I am, a little, you know, Patty,&rdquo; he added.
+The motor purred gently as it glided out of
+a country road into the turnpike.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What do you say if we begin making opportunities
+for each other?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>She started up with a laugh.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I never thought of that,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;When
+shall we start?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;At once, Patty. If you&rsquo;ll provide the opportunity,&rdquo;
+and he kissed her, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll be its
+thief.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>But she captured him at once.</p>
+
+<p class="p2 noic">THE END.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+<p class="adheader">A SPLENDID SOCIETY NOVEL</p>
+
+
+<p class="noi adtitle">The Bolted Door</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p class="noi adauthor">By <span class="smcap">George Gibbs</span>, author of &ldquo;Tony&rsquo;s Wife,&rdquo;
+etc. Illustrated by the author. 12mo. Cloth,
+$1.25 net.</p></div>
+
+<p>The story of an ambitious young inventor and a young
+society girl, who are forced into marriage by the will of an
+eccentric millionaire uncle.</p>
+
+<div class="adreview"><p>&ldquo;Fresh, strong, and irresistibly interesting.&rdquo;&mdash;<i>New York World.</i></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;One of the most attractive novels which has appeared for a long
+time. Holds the interest breathless all the time and ends with a most
+satisfactory rush of happiness.&rdquo;&mdash;<i>Boston Globe.</i></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;A clever, fascinating love story.&rdquo;&mdash;<i>Detroit News.</i></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Bright, exciting, and decidedly up-to-date. The characters are
+sharply drawn and well contrasted, and the background of social
+opulence well colored. It is decidedly worth reading. Sure to be a
+best seller.&rdquo;&mdash;<i>Springfield Republican.</i></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;A rattling good story. Wholesome, sweet-spirited, well planned,
+absorbing.&rdquo;&mdash;<i>Chicago Record-Herald.</i></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Admirably constructed. Interesting episodes succeed each other
+and the frothy and clever dialogue of the fashionable butterflies of the
+New York smart set is wittily flippant and amusing. It is a capital
+novel. The real depths of human feeling are treated with fine emotional
+power.&rdquo;&mdash;<i>Philadelphia Public Ledger.</i></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;The most distinguished society novel for a long time and one
+of the most dramatic.&rdquo;&mdash;<i>Hartford Courant.</i></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;As up-to-date as the steam yacht. More than ordinarily pleasing.&rdquo;&mdash;<i>Brooklyn
+Eagle.</i></p></div>
+
+
+<p class="noic adauthor">D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK</p>
+
+
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+<p class="adheader">ANOTHER CHAMBERS SUCCESS</p>
+
+
+<p class="noi adtitle">The Common Law</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p class="noi adauthor">By <span class="smcap">Robert W. Chambers</span>, author of &ldquo;The
+Danger Mark,&rdquo; &ldquo;The Fighting Chance,&rdquo; etc.
+Illustrated with over 50 Drawings by America&rsquo;s
+foremost illustrator, Charles Dana Gibson.
+Cloth, $1.40 net.</p></div>
+
+<p>In this new novel the author treats his readers to a splendid
+story of society and studio life in New York city. It is a
+novel that holds attention from the first, having all the interest
+and fascination of a Chambers society story, with the added
+charm of the gay artists&rsquo; life in a great city with its frank
+camaraderie, witty small talk and undisguised disregard of
+convention.</p>
+
+<p>It is a great love story, concerning itself with Valerie West,
+a gently bred girl, who from a cloistered life with an invalid
+mother comes to the studio of Louis Neville, an artist
+of aristocratic and snobbish ancestry. She seeks employment
+as a model, and her beauty readily wins an audience, while
+her physical perfections suit the work that Neville has in hand,
+so that she is eagerly engaged.</p>
+
+<p>The story follows this association through a rapid progress
+from intellectual companionship, pure friendship and then
+fervid love. Love triumphant over tradition is the concluding
+note of the story.</p>
+
+<div  class="adreview"><p>&ldquo;Mr. Chambers has written charmingly as usual. He has a most
+fascinating manner of putting abstractions and theorizings into seemingly
+pulsating actuality, and his delineation of human emotions is
+so boldly and palpably real he is able to illustrate it with the most
+fantastic and wonderful circumstances.&rdquo;&mdash;<i>Des Moines Register-Leader.</i></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Mr. Chambers has achieved a virtually flawless novel.&rdquo;&mdash;<i>Hartford Courant.</i></p></div>
+
+<p class="noic adauthor">
+D. APPLETON AND COMPANY<br />
+NEW YORK&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;LONDON<br />
+</p>
+
+
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+<p class="adheader">BOOKS BY W. B. MAXWELL</p>
+
+
+<p class="noi adtitle">Mrs. Thompson</p>
+
+<p>The story deals with a woman who had won for herself an enviable
+position in the business world, when she is persuaded to marry one of
+her employees, who turns out to be an adventurer. Her disappointment
+strengthens her already wonderfully strong character, and the outcome
+of the story is as amazing as it is unusual.</p>
+
+<p class="noic"><i>12mo. Cloth, $1.30 net.</i></p>
+
+
+<p class="noi adtitle">The Rest Cure</p>
+
+<p>The story of a husband who is absolutely wrapped up in his business,
+devotes all his days and nights to it, allows his wife to do as she likes.
+She looks about for other companionship; suddenly they both wake up
+to the situation that the husband is ruining his life by his work and that
+the wife is ruining herself through lack of companionship with her
+husband.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;The book grips like a steel trap, and only the stupid could read it
+unmoved.&rdquo;&mdash;<i>Chicago Record-Herald.</i></p>
+
+<p class="noic"><i>12mo, Cloth, $1.50 net.</i></p>
+
+
+<p class="noi adtitle">Seymour Charlton</p>
+
+<p>The story of the love and marriage of a young English earl and the
+daughter of a shopkeeper. She does not at first succeed in her new
+position. Later, however, she becomes a great lady in every sense of
+the word, only to discover that her husband has become entangled with
+a woman of a fast life. Charlton&rsquo;s tardy recognition of his wife&rsquo;s worth
+meets no response from her. But having finally broken with the other
+woman, he starts in all over again to win his wife&rsquo;s love.</p>
+
+<p class="noic"><i>Illustrated. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50.</i></p>
+
+
+<p class="noi adtitle">The Guarded Flame</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;In quite a different field, in a vastly different atmosphere, the
+author has come near to the master genius of Thomas Hardy. &lsquo;The
+Guarded Flame&rsquo; is a work of wonderful power, but above all a work of
+truth. No novel has been written since the beginning of Hardy&rsquo;s literary
+activity that has more clearly approached his marvelous subtlety in the
+depiction of human nature.&rdquo;&mdash;<i>The Cleveland Plain Dealer.</i></p>
+
+<p class="noic"><i>12mo. Cloth, $1.50.</i></p>
+
+
+<p class="noi adtitle">Vivien</p>
+
+<p>This story gives the detailed experiences of a girl who has to fight
+single-handed against the greatest dangers to which a woman can be
+exposed and to see sides of life of which her more fortunate sisters are
+kept in ignorance. It is fascinatingly written and with a clear understanding
+of human nature.</p>
+
+<p class="noic"><i>12mo. Cloth, $1.50.</i></p>
+
+<p class="noic adauthor">
+D. APPLETON AND COMPANY<br />
+NEW YORK&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;LONDON<br />
+</p>
+
+
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+<p class="adheader">By ELINOR GLYN</p>
+
+
+<p class="noi adtitle">His Hour</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p class="noi adauthor">The story of the loves of a Russian Prince and
+a beautiful Englishwoman by the author of
+&ldquo;Three Weeks.&rdquo; With frontispiece. 12mo.
+Cloth, $1.50.</p></div>
+
+<p>A young English widow of wealth and position traveling
+in Egypt meets a Russian prince of great personal charm and
+high rank, whose masterful attentions at once pique the lady&rsquo;s
+warm interest. They are companions on her return voyage
+to England, during which her emotions are further stirred
+by the varied characteristics of the young prince, and almost
+immediately she leaves for St. Petersburg to visit her godmother,
+a woman of rank and fashion, whom she had hitherto
+never met. In St. Petersburg she again meets the young
+prince, who is a great favorite. Love between them develops,
+but the man&rsquo;s assurance and frank expectations render the
+lady haughty and reserved. There are occasions, however,
+when she yields to his ardor in so far as to show that she
+loves him. From this point the author then spins a vivid
+and exotic love story, and one that will appeal to all classes
+of fiction readers.</p>
+
+<div  class="adreview"><p>&ldquo;A tale that many will read with bated breath.&rdquo;&mdash;<i>New
+York Herald.</i></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;The wild nature of the Russian prince, as well as the charmingly
+free and easy society of St. Petersburg, are admirably drawn.&rdquo;&mdash;<i>Philadelphia
+Public Ledger.</i></p></div>
+
+
+<p class="noic adauthor">D. APPLETON &amp; COMPANY, NEW YORK</p>
+
+
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+<div class="tnote">
+<p class="noi tntitle">Transcriber&rsquo;s Notes:</p>
+
+<p>Added Table of Contents for enhanced navigation.</p>
+
+<p>Punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected.</p>
+
+<p>Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.</p>
+
+<p>Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.</p>
+
+<p>The author&rsquo;s long dash style has been preserved.</p>
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The Maker of Opportunities, by George Gibbs
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+</pre>
+
+</body>
+</html>
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@@ -0,0 +1,6212 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Maker of Opportunities, by George Gibbs
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Maker of Opportunities
+
+Author: George Gibbs
+
+Illustrator: Edmund Frederick
+
+Release Date: January 28, 2012 [EBook #38702]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MAKER OF OPPORTUNITIES ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Donald Cummings and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was
+produced from images generously made available by The
+Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ THE MAKER OF
+ OPPORTUNITIES
+
+
+
+
+ By GEORGE GIBBS
+
+ The Maker of Opportunities
+ The Forbidden Way
+ The Bolted Door
+ Tony's Wife
+ The Medusa Emerald
+
+ D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
+ NEW YORK
+
+
+[Illustration: "But the Great Head rocks didn't hear."]
+
+
+
+
+ THE MAKER OF
+ OPPORTUNITIES
+
+
+ BY
+ GEORGE GIBBS
+
+ AUTHOR OF "THE FORBIDDEN WAY,"
+ "THE BOLTED DOOR," ETC.
+
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+
+ ILLUSTRATED BY
+ EDMUND FREDERICK
+
+
+ NEW YORK AND LONDON
+ D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
+ 1912
+
+
+
+
+ COPYRIGHT, 1912, BY
+ D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
+
+
+ Copyright, 1905, by The Metropolitan Magazine Company
+ Copyright, 1905, 1906, by Street and Smith
+ Copyright, 1911, by the Red Book Corporation
+
+
+ _Published April, 1912_
+
+
+ Printed in the United States of America
+
+
+
+
+LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
+
+
+                                                          FACING
+                                                            PAGE
+
+ "But the Great Head rocks didn't hear."    _Frontispiece_
+
+ "'I beg pardon,' he repeated, 'but isn't this yours?'"       66
+
+ "'What a lot of vermilion you use.'"                        142
+
+ "'You are supposed to be playing the golf of the New
+   Era.'"                                                    256
+
+
+
+
+THE MAKER OF OPPORTUNITIES
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+
+It was two o'clock. Mr. Mortimer Crabb pushed back the chair from
+his breakfast tray and languidly took up the morning paper. He had a
+reputation (in which he delighted) of dwelling in a Castle of Indolence,
+and took particular pains that no act of his should belie it. There were
+persons who smiled at his affectations, for he had a studio over a
+stable in one of the cross streets up town, where he dawdled most of his
+days, supine in his easy chair. The age was running to athletics, so Mr.
+Crabb in public had become the apostle and high priest of flaccidity. He
+raised a supercilious eyebrow at tennis, drawled his disparagement of
+polo and racquets and recoiled at the mere mention of college football.
+But those highest in Crabb's favor knew that there were evenings when he
+met professional pugilists at this same shrine of aestheticism, who, at
+liberal compensation, matched their skill and heft to his.
+
+Nor was he a mean antagonist in conversation. For Mr. Crabb had a slow
+and rather halting way of making the most trenchantly witty remarks,
+and a style exactly suited to the successful dinner table. And when a
+satiated society demanded something new it was to Crabb they turned for
+a suggestion. Mrs. Ryerson's Gainsborough ball, Jack Burrow's remarkable
+ushers' dinner, and the pet-dog tea at Mrs. Jennings' country place were
+fantasies of the mind of this Prester John of the effete. When to these
+remarkable talents is added a yacht and a hundred and fifty thousand a
+year, it is readily to be seen that Mr. Mortimer Crabb was a person of
+consequence, even in New York.
+
+Mr. Crabb scanned the headlines of the _Sun_, while McFee fastened his
+boots. But his eye fell upon an item that made him sit up straight and
+drop his monocle.
+
+"H--m!" he muttered in a strange tone. "So Dicky Bowles is coming home!"
+
+He peered at the item again and read, frowning.
+
+     "Owing to the necessity for the immediate departure of the
+     prospective groom for Europe, the marriage of Miss Juliet
+     Hazard, daughter of Mr. Henry Hazard, to Mr. Carl Geltman will
+     take place on Wednesday, June twentieth, instead of in October,
+     the month at first selected."
+
+Crabb's expression had suddenly undergone a startling change, unknown in
+the Platonic purlieus of the Bachelors' Club. The brows tangled, the
+lower jaw protruded, while the feet which had languidly emerged from
+the dressing-room a few moments before, had partaken suddenly of the
+impulses which dominated the entire body. He rose abruptly and took a
+few rapid turns up and down the room.
+
+"So! They didn't dare wait! Poor little Julie! There ought to be better
+things in store for her than that! And Dicky won't be here until
+Thursday morning! It's too evident--the haste."
+
+He dropped into his chair, picked up the paper again, and re-read the
+item. June twentieth! And to-day was Sunday, June seventeenth! Geltman
+had taken no more chances than decency demanded. Crabb remembered the
+calamitous result of Hazard's ventures in Wall Street, and it was common
+gossip that, had it not been for Carl Geltman, the firm of Hazard and
+Company would long since have ceased to exist. It was easy to read
+between the lines of the newspaper paragraph. Between the ruin of her
+father's fortunes and her own, duty left Juliet Hazard no choice. And
+here was Dicky Bowles upon the ocean coming back to claim his own. It
+was monstrous.
+
+Mr. Crabb laid aside the paper and paced the floor again. Then walked to
+the window and presently found himself smiling down upon the hansom
+tops.
+
+"The very thing," he said. "The very thing. It's worth trying at any
+rate. Jepson will help. And what a lark!" And then aloud:
+
+"McFee," he called, "get me a hansom."
+
+Mr. Carl Geltman sat in his office of chamfered oak, and smiled up at a
+photograph upon his desk, conscious of nothing but the dull ecstasy
+which suffused his ample person and blinded him to everything but the
+contemplation of his approaching nuptials. The watch-chain stretched
+tightly between his waistcoat pockets somehow conveyed the impression
+of a tension of suppressed emotions, which threatened to burst their
+confines. His rubicund visage exuded delight, and his short fingers
+caressed his blond mustache. It was difficult for him to comprehend that
+all of his ambitions were to be realized at once. Money, of course,
+would buy almost anything in New York, but Mr. Geltman had hardly dared
+to dream of this. Until he had seen Miss Hazard he had never even
+thought of marriage. After he had seen her he had thought of nothing
+else.
+
+After working late in his office, Geltman dined alone at a fashionable
+restaurant in a state of beatitude, then lit his cigar and walked forth
+into Broadway for a breath of air before going to bed. The sooner to
+sleep, the sooner would his wedding day dawn. But the glare of the
+lights distracted him, the bells jangled out of harmony with his mood,
+so he sought a side street and walked on toward the river, where he
+could continue his dreams in quiet, until the hurrying thoroughfare was
+far behind.
+
+He had reached a spot between tall warehouses or factories when he felt
+himself seized from behind by strong arms, and before he could make an
+outcry something soft was thrust into his mouth and he had a dim sense
+of sudden darkness, of hands not too tender lifting him into a carriage,
+a brief whispered order, a hurried drive, more carrying, the sound of
+lapping water and ship's bells, the throbbing of ferry paddles, the
+motion of a boat, and the damp night air of the river through his thin
+evening clothes.
+
+When Geltman opened his eyes it was to fix them rather dully upon the
+deck-beams of a yacht. The rushing water alongside sent rapid reflections
+dancing along their polished surfaces. At first it occurred to him that
+he was on an ocean steamer. Had he been married, and was this--? He
+looked around. No. He was a good sailor, but the vessel rolled and
+pitched sharply in a way to which he was unaccustomed. He arose to a
+sitting posture and tried to piece together the shattered remnants of his
+recollection. He felt strangely stupid and inert. How long had he been
+lying in the bunk? He remarked that he was attired very properly in
+pajamas--very fine pajamas they were, too, of silk such as he wore
+himself. Upon the leather-covered bench opposite was a suit of flannels
+carefully folded, white canvas shoes, stockings upon the deck, and other
+unfamiliar undergarments disposed upon hooks by the cabin door.
+
+He rose suddenly, his mind dully trying to grasp the situation.
+He lurched to the porthole and looked out. It was a wilderness of
+amber-color and white, rather bewildering and terrifying seen so near at
+hand, for Geltman had been accustomed to look upon the ocean from the
+security of fifty feet of freeboard. Far away where the leaping wave
+crests met the line of sky, he could just distinguish the faint blue of
+the land. He was seized with a sudden terror and, turning, he ran to the
+cabin door and tried to open it. It was locked. He threw himself against
+it and cried aloud, but his voice was lost in the rush of wind and water
+without. His despairing eye at this moment lit upon a push-button by the
+side of the bunk. He touched it with his finger and anxiously waited.
+There was no sound. He sat upon the edge of the bunk, conscious of a
+cold wind blowing upon his bare toes and of a dull ache within which
+proclaimed the lack of food or drink, or both. He rang again and renewed
+his shouting. In a moment there was the sound of a key in the lock, the
+door opened, and a sober, smooth-shaven person in brass buttons stood in
+the door.
+
+"Did you ring, sir?" said the man, respectfully.
+
+"I did," said Geltman, wrathfully.
+
+"Yes, sir," said the man. "Can I get you anything, sir?"
+
+"Can you get me--?" began the bewildered Geltman. "Is there anything you
+_can't_ get me? Get me some food--my own clothes--and get me--get
+me--out of this. Where am I? What am I doing here?"
+
+"You were sleeping, sir," said the man, imperturbably. "I thought you
+might not wish to be disturbed."
+
+Geltman looked around him again as though unwilling to credit the
+evidence of his senses. He saw that the man kept his hand upon the door
+and eyed him narrowly.
+
+"I've been drugged and shanghaied. What boat is this? Where are we?"
+
+"We're at sea, sir," said the man, quietly. "Off Fire Island, I believe,
+sir."
+
+"Fire Island," he cried, "and this--" as memory came back with a horrible
+rush--"what day is this?"
+
+"Wednesday, June the twentieth," replied the man, calmly.
+
+Geltman raised his hands toward the deck beams and sank upon the bunk on
+the verge of collapse. He remembered now--it was his wedding day!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+
+As the fog upon his memory still hung heavily he raised his head toward
+the man at the door of the cabin. That person was eyeing him rather
+pityingly and had come a step forward into the room.
+
+"Shall I be getting you something, sir?" he was saying again.
+
+Geltman sprang unsteadily to his feet.
+
+"No," he cried. "I'm going to get out of this."
+
+"In pajamas, sir?" said the man, reproachfully.
+
+Geltman glanced down at the flimsy silk garment.
+
+"Yes--in pajamas," he cried, hotly. And with an imprecation he strode
+past the outraged servant and rushed through the saloon and up the
+companion. As he raised his head and shoulders above the deck he was
+immediately aware of a chill wind which was singing sharply through the
+rigging. A gentleman, in a double-breasted suit and yachting cap, was
+standing aft steadying a telescope toward a distant schooner. By his
+side was a short and very stocky man with a bushy red beard and brass
+buttons.
+
+"What is the meaning of this outrage?" he cried, wildly addressing the
+man in the yachting cap. "Are you the owner of this yacht?"
+
+The gentleman calmly lowered his telescope, passed it to the bearded
+man, turned mildly toward the tousled apparition and looked at him from
+top to toe while the sportive wind gleefully defined Geltman's generous
+figure.
+
+"I say, old man," he said, smiling, "hadn't you better get into some
+clothes?"
+
+"C--clothes be----" chattered Geltman. "I've been drugged, kidnapped,
+and shanghaied! Somebody's going to smart for this. Who are you? What
+does it mean?"
+
+The enraged brewer, with his arms waving, his slender garment flapping,
+his inflamed countenance and ruffled hair, presented the wildest
+appearance imaginable. The man in the yachting cap wore an expression of
+commiseration and exchanged a significant glance with the red-bearded
+man.
+
+"There now," said he, raising a protesting hand, "we're all your friends
+aboard here. You're in no danger at all, except--" he smiled at the
+brewer's costume--"except from a bad cold."
+
+"What does this outrage mean?" cried Geltman anew. "You'll suffer for
+it. As long as I have a dollar left in the world----"
+
+"You really don't mean that," said the gentleman. "Go below now, that's
+a good fellow, get breakfast and some clothes."
+
+"No, I'll n--not," said the brewer in chilly syncopation. "I'm Carl
+Geltman, of Henry Geltman and Company, and I want an explanation of this
+outrage."
+
+The two men exchanged another look, and the red-bearded one tapped his
+forehead twice with a blunt forefinger.
+
+"I haven't the least idea what you're talking about, Mr. Fehrenbach,"
+said the man in the yachting cap, calmly.
+
+"Fehrenbach!" cried the brewer. "My name isn't Fehrenbach!" he screamed.
+"Otto Fehrenbach is on the East Side. I'm on the West. My name is
+Geltman, I tell you!"
+
+The man in blue looked gravely down at the astonished brewer and pushed
+a bell on the side of the cabin skylight.
+
+"That was one of the symptoms, Weckerly," he said aside to the man with
+the red beard.
+
+"Yes, Doctor," said the other quizzically. "The sea air ought to do him
+a lot of good."
+
+Geltman, now bewildered, limp and very much alarmed, suffered himself to
+be led shivering below by the two blue-shirted sailor-men. There he
+found the steward in the cabin with a drink, and the blue flannels, and
+a boy laying a warm breakfast in the saloon. He dressed. At table he
+discovered an appetite which even his troubled spirit had not abated.
+Hot coffee and a cigar completed his rehabilitation. His situation would
+have been an agreeable joke had it not been so tragic. He had learned
+enough to feel that he was powerless, that there had been some terrible
+mistake, and that the only way out of the difficulty was through the
+somewhat tortuous and sparsely buoyed channels of diplomacy.
+
+But he walked out upon deck with renewed confidence. It was early yet.
+If he could persuade his host of his mistake there was still time to run
+in shore where the telegraph might set all things right. The man in the
+yachting cap was smoking a pipe in the lee of the after hatch.
+
+"Will you please tell me your name?" began the brewer, constrainedly.
+
+"With all the good will in the world," said the other, rising. "I'm glad
+you're feeling better. I'm Doctor Norman Woolf of New York, and this,"
+indicating the red-bearded man, "is Captain Weckerly of the _Pinta_.
+Captain Weckerly--Mr. Fehrenbach."
+
+Geltman started at the repetition of the name, but he gave no other
+sign.
+
+"Would you mind," said the brewer, "telling me how I came aboard your
+boat?"
+
+"Not at all," said Woolf, easily. "You see, when I cruise on the _Pinta_
+I make it a point to leave all thought of my cases behind. But sometimes
+I break my rule, and when they told me of yours I made up my mind I
+should like to study you under intimate and extraordinary conditions and
+so----"
+
+"Really, I don't quite follow----"
+
+"And so I had to bring you out to the yacht on which I was just starting
+for a little run over to the Azores."
+
+"The Azores!"
+
+Dr. Woolf was smiling benignly at the unhappy brewer.
+
+"You know," he continued, "these cases of aphasia have a peculiar
+interest for me. It seems such a little slipping of the cogs. What's
+in a name, after all? Yours is an old and honored one. The Fehrenbachs
+have made beer for fifty years----"
+
+"It's a lie," shouted Geltman springing to his feet, unable longer to
+contain himself. "It's only thirty--and the stuff isn't fit to drink."
+
+"Pray be calm. Don't you know that if this was to get abroad, it would
+hurt your business?"
+
+"My business--the business of Geltman and Company----"
+
+"The business of Fehrenbach and Company," interrupted Dr. Woolf sternly.
+
+The unfortunate brewer with an effort contained himself. He knew that
+anger would avail him nothing. The only thing left was to listen
+patiently. He subsided again into his wicker chair and fastened his
+nervous gaze upon the distant horizon.
+
+"It's a pleasure to see you capable of self-control. If you can, I
+should like you to try and tell me how you happened to begin using the
+name of Geltman."
+
+How had he happened to use the name of Geltman!
+
+"What would you say," continued the Doctor, without awaiting the answer,
+"if I were to tell you that I was Christopher Columbus and that Captain
+Weckerly here was Francisco Pizarro or Hernandez Cortes? You'd say we
+were mistaken, wouldn't you? Of course you would. When you say that
+you're Geltman and we know you're Fehrenbach----"
+
+"Stop!" roared the unhappy brewer, springing to his feet. "Stop, for the
+love of Heaven, and let me off this floating madhouse!"
+
+"Calm yourself!"
+
+"Calm myself! Can you not see that the whole thing is a terrible
+mistake? You have taken me for some one else. Last evening, I tell you,
+I was knocked down and drugged. Then I was carried to a boat and brought
+here. Look in my clothes, my handkerchiefs, my linen, you will see the
+monogram or initials C. G. Will not that be enough to satisfy you?"
+
+"My dear sir, I assure you you were brought aboard in the very clothes
+you now wear. Even that cap was on your head. Can't you remember coming
+up the gangway with Captain Weckerly?" And then, half aloud, and with
+looks of misgivings toward the Captain, who was shaking his head, "He's
+worse than I supposed."
+
+Geltman had taken off the yachting cap and there, perforated in the band,
+were the letters O. F. He searched his pockets and found a handkerchief
+with the same initials. As he did so he saw that the two men were looking
+at him with a expression of new interest and concern. His mind was still
+befogged. For the first time he really began to doubt himself, and the
+evidence of his belated memory. He had not heard that Otto Fehrenbach was
+mad. Was it possible that after all some dreadful misfortune had happened
+to him, Geltman? That a blow he had received in falling had turned his
+mind, and that his soul had migrated to the body of the hated Fehrenbach?
+And if so, did the soul of Fehrenbach occupy _his_ body? Fehrenbach,
+sitting in _his_ office, directing _his_ business with the shoddy methods
+of the Fehrenbachs, driving _his_ horses, and perhaps--could it be that
+he was at this moment marrying Juliet Hazard in his place? The thought of
+it made him sick. He was dimly conscious of some science which dealt with
+these things. He had once read a story of a happening of this kind at a
+German university. He looked at these strangers before him and found
+himself returning in kind their mysterious glances. Was he mad? Or were
+they? Or were they all mad together? He glanced aloft at the swaying
+masts. And the yacht, too? Was it real or was that, too, some fantasy of
+a diseased imagination? The _Fliegende Hollaender_ flitted playfully into
+his mind. Just forward of the cabin a group of sailors were standing
+looking at him and whispering. It was uncanny. Were they, too, in the
+same state as the others? It could not be. The vessel was real. Geltman
+or Fehrenbach--he, himself, was real. There must be some one aboard the
+accursed craft who would listen to him and understand. Bewildered, he
+walked forward. As he did so the group of sailor-men dissolved and each
+one hurried about some self-appointed task. He walked over to a man who
+was coiling a rope.
+
+"I say, my man," he said, "are you from New York?"
+
+"Yes, sir," said the man, but he looked over his shoulder to right and
+left as though seeking a mode of escape.
+
+"Did you ever happen to drink any of Geltman's beer?"
+
+The man gave the brewer one fleeting look, then dropped his coil and
+disappeared down the fo'c's'le hatch.
+
+The brewer watched the retreating figure with some dismay. He walked
+toward another man who was shining some bright work around the galley
+stovepipe. But the man saw him coming and vanished as the other had
+done. An old man with a gray beard sat on a ditty box at the lee rail,
+sewing a pair of breeches. He was chewing tobacco and scowling, but did
+not move as the landsman approached.
+
+"I say, my man," began the brewer again, "did you ever drink any of
+Geltman's beer?"
+
+The old man eyed him from head to foot before he answered. But there was
+no fear in his face--only pity--naked and undisguised.
+
+"Naw," he replied, spitting to leeward. "There ain't no beer in N' York
+fer me but Otto Fehrenbach's."
+
+Geltman looked at him a moment and then turned despairingly aft. The
+yacht was bewitched and they were all bewitched with her.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+
+"It's lucky Ollie Farquhar's fat," said Mortimer Crabb when Geltman was
+out of earshot. "It was neat, Jepson, beautifully neat. Did you ever see
+fish take the bait better? But he'll be coming to in a minute."
+
+Captain Jepson was watching the bewildered brewer. "He won't get much
+information there," he grinned.
+
+"It can't last much longer, though," said Crabb. "How much of a run is
+it to the coast?"
+
+"About an hour, sir."
+
+"Well, keep her on her course until eight bells. Then if he insists
+we'll run in and land him on the beach somewhere."
+
+"Aye, aye, sir."
+
+"It will soon be over now. He can't get in until to-morrow and
+then"--Crabb beamed with satisfaction--"and then it'll be too late.
+Stow your smile, Jepson. He's coming back."
+
+Not even this complete chain of circumstantial evidence could long avail
+against the brisk air and sunlight. In the broad expanse between the
+thumb and forefinger of his right hand Geltman noted the blue of some
+youthful tattooing. As he saw the familiar letters doubt took flight. He
+_was_ himself. There was no doubt of that. As he went aft again he
+smiled triumphantly.
+
+"Let's be done with nonsense, Dr. Woolf," he growled. "Look at that,"
+holding his hand before Crabb's eyes. "If I'm Otto Fehrenbach how is it
+that the letters C. G. are marked in my hand?"
+
+Crabb, his arms akimbo, stood looking him steadily in the eyes.
+
+"So," he said calmly, "you're awake at last!"
+
+He looked at Crabb and the Captain with eyes which saw not. What he had
+thought of saying and doing remained unsaid and undone. With no other
+word he lurched heavily forward and down the companion.
+
+"There'll be a hurricane in that quarter, Jepson, or I'm not weather
+wise," laughed Crabb. "We'd better run in now. There isn't much sea and
+the wind is offshore. We'll land him at Quogue or Westhampton. In the
+meanwhile, keep the tarpaulin over the for'ard boat so that he can't see
+the name on her. We'll use the gig. If he tries to peep over the stern
+we'll clap him in the stateroom. It will mean five years at least for me
+if he learns the name of the _Blue Wing_. So look sharp, Jepson, and
+keep an eye on him."
+
+"Never fear," said the Captain with a grin, and walked forward.
+
+Crabb walked the deck in high jubilation. He looked at his watch. Three
+o'clock! If McFee had followed his instructions Dicky Bowles and Juliet
+Hazard were man and wife. He had nicely figured his chances. To Geltman
+he was Dr. Woolf. To his crew he was Mr. Crabb taking an unfortunate
+relative for an airing; to Dicky Bowles he was the rescuer of forlorn
+damsels and the trump of good fellows.
+
+Crabb was fully prepared to carry the villainy through to the end. Of
+one thing he was certain, the sooner his guest was off the _Blue Wing_
+and safely landed the better.
+
+And so, when at last Geltman came on deck with the watchful Weckerly at
+his heels, Crabb noted the chastened expression upon the brewer's face
+with singular satisfaction.
+
+"I'll go ashore, if you please," he said, quietly.
+
+Crabb affected disappointed surprise.
+
+"Here? Now?" he said. "We're pretty far down the coast. That's Quogue in
+there. I can't very well run back to New York, but----"
+
+"Put me ashore, sir," said Geltman sulkily.
+
+When the gig was lowered, Crabb bowed the brewer over the side, his
+evening clothes tied in a paper package.
+
+"Good-by," said Crabb. "When you're done with the flannels, Mr. Geltman,
+send 'em to Fehrenbach."
+
+But Geltman had no reply. He had folded his arms and was gazing stolidly
+toward the shore. The last glimpse Crabb had of him was when the _Blue
+Wing_ drew offshore leaving him gesticulating wildly upon the beach in
+the glow of the setting sun.
+
+When the figure was but a speck in the distance Mortimer Crabb turned
+away and threw himself wearily in his wicker chair.
+
+"Where to now, sir?" asked Jepson.
+
+"Oh, anywhere you like."
+
+"Sandy Hook, sir?"
+
+"Oh, yes," he sighed, "as well go there as anywhere else. New York,
+Jepson."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Poor Crabb! In twenty-four hours he was, if anything, more bored than
+ever. The sight of the joyous faces of Dicky Bowles and his bride had
+done something to relieve the _tedium vitae_, but he knew that their joy
+was of themselves and not of him, and so he gave them a "God bless you"
+and his country place on Long Island for a few weeks of honeymooning. He
+had even had the presumption to offer them the _Blue Wing_, but Dicky,
+whose new responsibilities had developed a vein of prudence, refused
+point blank. Crabb shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"Suit yourselves," he laughed. "It's yours if you want it."
+
+"And have Geltman putting you in jail?"
+
+"Oh, _he_ won't trouble me."
+
+"How do you know?"
+
+"I've made some inquiries. He's dropped the thing."
+
+"Are you sure?"
+
+"Oh, yes. He's not so thick-skinned as he looks. That story wouldn't
+look well in print, you know."
+
+With an outburst of friendship, Dicky threw his arms around Crabb's
+shoulders and gave him a bear hug.
+
+"I'll never forget it, Mort, never! You're the salt of the earth----"
+
+"There, there, Dicky. Salt should be taken in pinches, not by the
+spoonful, and you've mussed my cravat! Be off with you and don't come
+back here until matrimony has sobered you into a proper sense of your
+new responsibilities to your Creator."
+
+From the window of his apartment Crabb watched Dicky's taxi spin up the
+avenue in the direction of the modest boarding-house which sheltered the
+waiting bride, then turned with a heavy sigh and rang for McFee. Love
+like that never comes to the very rich. He, Mortimer Crabb, was not a
+sentient being, but only a chattel, an animated bank account upon which
+designing matrons cast envious eyes and for which ambitious daughters
+laid their pretty snares. No, love like that was not for him--or ever
+would be, it seemed.
+
+His toilet made, Crabb strolled out for the air, wondering as he often
+did how the people on the street could smile their way through life,
+while he----
+
+A hansom passed, turned just beyond and drew up at the curb beside him,
+and a voice addressed him.
+
+"Crabb! Mortimer Crabb! By all that's lucky!"
+
+"Ross Burnett!" said Crabb, gladly. "I thought that you were dead. Have
+you dropped from heaven, man?"
+
+"No," laughed Ross, "not so far, only from China."
+
+Burnett dismissed the hansom at once and together they went to the
+Bachelors' Club near by, where, over a friendly glass, they gathered up
+the loose ends of their friendship. Crabb listened with new interest as
+his old friend gave him an account of what had happened in the five
+years which had intervened since they had last met, recalling piece by
+piece the unfortunate events which had led to his departure from New
+York, and Burnett, glad of receptive ears, rehearsed it for him.
+
+The boy had squandered his patrimony in Wall Street. Then by the grace
+of one of the senators from New York he obtained from the President an
+appointment as consular clerk, an office, which if it paid but little at
+home carried with it some dignity, a little authority, and certain
+appreciable perquisites in foreign ports.
+
+He had chosen wisely. At Cairo, where he had been sent to fill a
+temporary vacancy caused by the death of the consul general and
+subsequent illness of his deputy, he found himself suddenly in charge of
+the consular office in the fullest press of business, with diplomatic
+functions requiring both ingenuity and discretion.
+
+After all, it was very simple. The business of a consulate was child's
+play, and the usual phases in the life of a diplomat were to be
+requisitely met by the usages of gentility--a quality Burnett discovered
+was not too amply possessed by those political gentlemen who sat abroad
+in the posts of honor to represent the great republic.
+
+He thought that if he could get a post, however small, with plenary
+powers, he would be happy. But, alas! He had been away from home so long
+that he didn't even know whether his senator was dead or alive, and when
+he reached Washington, a month or so after the inauguration, he realized
+how small were his chances for preferment.
+
+The President and Secretary of State were besieged daily by powerful
+politicians, and one by one the posts coveted, even the smallest of
+them, were taken by frock-coated, soft-hatted, flowing-tied gentlemen,
+whom he had noticed lounging and chewing tobacco in the Willard Hotel
+lobby. It was apparently with such persons that power took preferment.
+His roseate dreams vanished. Ross Burnett was a mere State Department
+drudge again at twelve hundred a year!
+
+He told Crabb that he had spoken to the chief of the diplomatic bureau
+in despair.
+
+"Isn't there any way, Crowthers?" he had asked. "Can't a fellow ever get
+any higher?"
+
+"If he had a pull, he might--but a consular clerk----" The shake of
+Crowthers' head was eloquent.
+
+"Isn't there anything a fellow--even a consular clerk--could do to win
+promotion in this service?" he continued.
+
+Crowthers had looked at him quizzically.
+
+"Yes, there's one thing. If you could do that, you might ask the
+Secretary for anything you wanted."
+
+"And that----"
+
+"Get the text of the treaty between Germany and China from Baron Arnim."
+
+Crowthers had chuckled. Crabb chuckled, too. He thought it a very good
+joke. Baron Arnim had been the special envoy of Germany to China,
+accredited to the court of the Eastern potentate with the special
+mission of formulating a new and secret treaty between these monarchs.
+He was now returning home carrying a copy of this document in his
+baggage.
+
+Burnett had laughed. It _was_ a good joke.
+
+"You'd better send me out again," Burnett had said, hopelessly.
+"Anything from Arakan to Zanzibar will do for me."
+
+Crabb listened to the story with renewed marks of appreciation.
+
+"So you've been out and doing in the world, after all?" he said,
+languidly, "while we--_eheu jam satis!_--have glutted ourselves with the
+stale and unprofitable. How I envy you!"
+
+Burnett smoked silently. It was very easy to envy from the comfortable
+vantage ground of a hundred and fifty thousand a year.
+
+"Why, man, if you knew how sick of it all I am," sighed Crabb, "you'd
+thank your stars for the lucky dispensation that took you out of it.
+Rasselas was right. I've been pursuing the phantoms of hope for
+thirty years, and I'm still hopeless. There have been a few bright
+spots"--Crabb smiled at his cigar ash--"a very few, and far between."
+
+"Bored as ever, Crabb?"
+
+"Immitigably. To live in the thick of things and see nothing but the
+pale drabs and grays. No red anywhere. Oh, for a passion that would
+burn and sear--love, hate, fear! I'm forever courting them all. And here
+I am still cool, colorless and unscarred. Only once"--his gray eyes lit
+up marvelously--"only once did I learn the true relation of life to
+death, Burnett; only once. That was when the _Blue Wing_ struggled six
+days in a hurricane with Hatteras under her lee. It was glorious. They
+may talk of love and hate as they will; fear, I tell you, is the Titan
+of passions."
+
+Burnett was surprised at this unmasking.
+
+"You should try big game," he said, carelessly.
+
+"I have," said the other; "both beasts and men--and here I am in
+flannels and a red tie! I've skinned the one and been skinned by the
+other--to what end?"
+
+"You've bought experience."
+
+"Cheap at any cost. You can't buy fear. Love comes in varieties at the
+market values. Hate can be bought for a song; but fear, genuine and
+amazing, is priceless--a gem which only opportunity can provide; and
+how seldom opportunity knocks at any man's door!"
+
+"Crabb the original--the esoteric!"
+
+"Yes. The same. The very same. And you, how different! How sober and
+rounded!"
+
+There was a silence, contemplative, retrospective on both their parts.
+Crabb broke it.
+
+"Tell me, old man," he said, "about your position. Isn't there any
+chance?"
+
+Burnett smiled a little bitterly.
+
+"I'm a consular clerk at twelve hundred a year during good behavior.
+When I've said that, I've said it all."
+
+"But your future?"
+
+"I'm not in line of promotion."
+
+"Impossible! Politics?"
+
+"Exactly. I've no pull to speak of."
+
+"But your service?"
+
+"I've been paid for that."
+
+"Isn't there any other way?"
+
+"Oh, yes," Burnett laughed, "that treaty. I happened to know something
+about it when I was out there. It has to do with neutrality, trade
+ports and coaling stations; but just what, the devil only knows, and his
+deputy, Baron Arnim, won't tell. Arnim is now in Washington, ostensibly
+sight-seeing, but really to confer with Von Schlichter, the ambassador
+there, about it. You see, we've got rather more closely into the Eastern
+question than we really like, and a knowledge of Germany's attitude is
+immensely important to us."
+
+"Pray go on," drawled Crabb.
+
+"That's all there is. The rest was a joke. Crowthers wants me to get the
+text of that treaty from Baron Arnim's dispatch-box."
+
+"Entertaining!" said Crabb, with clouding brow. And then, after a pause,
+with all the seriousness in the world: "And aren't you going to?"
+
+Burnett turned to look at him in surprise.
+
+"What?"
+
+"Get it. The treaty."
+
+"The treaty! From Baron Arnim! You don't know much of diplomacy,
+Crabb."
+
+"You misunderstood me," he said, coolly; and then, with lowered voice:
+
+"Not from Baron Arnim--from Baron Arnim's dispatch-box."
+
+Burnett looked at his acquaintance in a maze. Crabb had been thought a
+mystery in the old days. He was an enigma now.
+
+"Surely you're jesting."
+
+"Why? It oughtn't to be difficult."
+
+Burnett looked fearfully around the room at their distant neighbors.
+"But it's burglary. Worse than that. If I, in my connection with the
+State Department, were discovered tampering with the papers of a foreign
+government, it would lead to endless complications and, perhaps, the
+disruption of diplomatic relations. Such a thing is impossible. Its very
+impossibility was the one thing which prompted Crowthers' suggestion.
+Can't you understand that?"
+
+Crabb was stroking his chin and contemplating his well-shaped boot.
+
+"Admit that it's impossible," he said calmly. "Do you think, if by some
+chance you were enabled to give the Secretary of State this information,
+you'd better your condition?"
+
+"What is the use, Crabb?" began Burnett.
+
+"It can't do any harm to answer me."
+
+"Well--yes, I suppose so. If we weren't plunged immediately into war
+with Emperor William."
+
+"Oh!" Crabb was deep in thought. It was several moments before he went
+on, and then, as though dismissing the subject.
+
+"What are your plans, Ross? Have you a week to spare? How about a cruise
+on the _Blue Wing_? There's a lot I know that you don't, and a lot you
+know that I'd like to. I'll take you up to Washington whenever you're
+bored. What do you say?"
+
+Ross Burnett accepted with alacrity. He remembered the _Blue Wing_,
+Jepson and Valentin's dinners. He had longed for them many times when he
+was eating spaghetti at Gabri's little restaurant in Genoa.
+
+When they parted it was with a consciousness on the part of Burnett
+that the affair of Baron Arnim had not been dismissed. The very thought
+had been madness. Was it only a little pleasantry of Crabb's? If not,
+what wild plan had entered his head? It was unlike the Mortimer Crabb he
+remembered.
+
+And yet there had been a deeper current flowing below his placid surface
+that gave a suggestion of desperate intent which nothing could explain
+away. And how illimitable were the possibilities if some plan could be
+devised by which the information could be obtained without resort
+to violent measures! It meant for him at least a post at the helm
+somewhere, or, perhaps, a secretaryship on one of the big commissions.
+
+The idea of burglary, flagrant and nefarious, he dismissed at a
+thought. Would there not be some way--an unguarded moment--a faithless
+servant--to give the thing the aspect of possible achievement? As he
+dressed he found himself thinking of the matter with more seriousness
+than it deserved.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+
+A week had passed since the two friends had met, and the _Blue Wing_ now
+lay in the Potomac near the Seventh Street wharf. It was night and the
+men had dined.
+
+Valentin's dinners were a distinct achievement. They were of the kind
+which made conclusive the assumption of an especial heaven for cooks.
+After coffee and over a cigar, which made all things complete, Mortimer
+Crabb chose his psychological moment.
+
+"Burnett," he said, "you must see that treaty and copy it."
+
+Burnett looked at him squarely. Crabb's glance never wavered.
+
+"So you _did_ mean it?" said Burnett.
+
+"Every word. You must have it. I'm going to help."
+
+"It's hopeless."
+
+"Perhaps. But the game is worth the candle."
+
+"A bribe to a servant?"
+
+"Leave that to me. Come, come, Ross, it's the chance of your life.
+Arnim, Von Schlichter and all the rest of them dine at the British
+embassy to-night. There's to be a ball afterward. They won't be back
+until late. We must get into Arnim's rooms at the German embassy. Those
+rooms are in the rear of the house. There's a rain spout and a back
+building. You can climb?"
+
+"To-night?" Burnett gasped. "You found out these things to-day?"
+
+"Since I left you. I saw Denton Thorpe at the British embassy."
+
+"And you were so sure I'd agree! Don't you think, old man----"
+
+"Hang it all, Burnett! I'm not easily deceived. You're down on your
+luck; that's plain. But you're not beaten. Any man who can buck the
+market down to his last thousand the way you did doesn't lack sand.
+The end isn't an ignoble one. You'll be doing the Administration a
+service--and yourself. Why, how can you pause?"
+
+Burnett looked around at the familiar fittings of the saloon, at the
+Braun prints let into the woodwork, at the flying teal set in the
+azure above the wainscoting, at his immaculate host and at his own
+conventional black. Was this to be indeed a setting for Machiavellian
+conspiracy?
+
+Crabb got up from the table and opened the doors of a large locker under
+the companion. Burnett watched him curiously.
+
+Garment after garment he pulled out upon the deck under the glare of the
+cabin lamp; shoes, hats and caps, overcoats and clothing of all sizes
+and shapes from the braided gray of the coster to the velvet and sash of
+the Nicois.
+
+He selected a soft hat and a cap and two long, tattered coats of ancient
+cut and style and threw them over the back of a chair. Then he went to
+his stateroom and brought out a large square box of tin and placed it
+on the table.
+
+He first wrapped a handkerchief around his neck, then seated himself
+deliberately before the box, opened the lid and took out a tray filled
+with make-up sticks. These he put aside while he drew forth from the
+deeper recesses mustachios, whiskers and beards of all shapes and
+complexions. He worked rapidly and silently, watching his changing image
+in the little mirror set in the box lid.
+
+Burnett, fascinated, followed his skillful fingers as they moved back
+and forth, lining here, shading there, not as the actor does for an
+effect by the calcium, but carefully, delicately, with the skill of the
+art anatomist who knows the bone structure of the face and the pull of
+the aging muscles.
+
+In twenty minutes Mortimer Crabb had aged as many years, and now bore
+the phiz of a shaggy rum-sot. The long coat, soft hat and rough bandanna
+completed the character. The fever of the adventure had mounted in
+Burnett's veins. He sprang to his feet with a reckless gesture of final
+resolution.
+
+"Give me my part!" he exclaimed. "I'll play it!"
+
+The aged intemperate smiled approval. "Good lad!" he said. "I thought
+you'd be game. If you hadn't been I was going alone. It's lucky you're
+clean shaved. Come and be transfigured."
+
+And as he rapidly worked on Burnett's face he completed the details of
+his plan. Like a good general, Crabb disposed his plans for failure as
+well as for success.
+
+They would wear their disguises over their evening clothes. Then, if the
+worst came, vaseline and a wipe of the bandannas would quickly remove
+all guilty signs from their faces, they could discard their tatters, and
+resume the garb of convention.
+
+Ross Burnett at last rose swarthy and darkly mustached, lacking only the
+rings in his ears to be old Gabri himself. He was fully awakened to the
+possibilities of the adventure. Whatever misgivings he had had were
+speedily dissipated by the blithe optimism of his companion.
+
+Crabb reached over for the brandy decanter.
+
+"One drink," he said, "and we must be off."
+
+The night was thick. A mist which had been gathering since sunset now
+turned to a soft drizzle of rain. Crabb, hands in pockets and shoulders
+bent, walked with a rapid and shambling gait up the street.
+
+"We can't risk the cars or a cab in this," muttered Crabb. "We might do
+it, but it's not worth the risk. Can you walk? It's not over three
+miles."
+
+It was after one o'clock before they reached Highland Terrace. Without
+stopping they examined the German embassy at long range from the distant
+side of Massachusetts Avenue. A gas lamp sputtered dimly under the
+_porte-cochere_. Another light gleamed far up in the slanting roof.
+Crabb led the way around and into the alley in the rear. It was long,
+badly lighted and ran the entire length of the block.
+
+"I got the details in the city plot-book from a real-estate man this
+afternoon. He thinks I'm going to buy next door. I wanted to be
+particular about the alleys and back entrances." Crabb chuckled.
+
+Burnett looked along the backs of the row of N Street houses. They were
+all as stolid as sphinxes. Several lights at wide intervals burned
+dimly. The night was chill for the season, and all the windows were
+down. The occasion was propitious. The rear of the embassy was dark,
+except for a dim glow in a window on the second floor.
+
+"That should be Arnim's room," said Crabb.
+
+He tried the back gate. It was unlocked. Noiselessly they entered,
+closing it after them. There was a rain spout, which Crabb eyed
+hopefully; but they found better luck in the shape of a thirty-foot
+ladder along the fence.
+
+"A positive invitation," whispered Crabb, joyfully. "Here, Ross; in the
+shadow. Once on the back building the deed is done. Quiet, now. You hold
+it and I'll go up."
+
+Burnett did not falter. But his hands were cold, and he was trembling
+from top to toe with excitement. He could not but admire Crabb's
+composure as he went firmly up the rungs.
+
+He saw him reach the roof and draw himself over the coping, and in a
+moment Burnett, less noiselessly but safely, had joined his fellow
+criminal by the window. There they waited a moment, listening. A cab
+clattered down Fifteenth Street, and the gongs on the car line clanged
+in reply, but that was all.
+
+Crabb stealthily arose and peered into the lighted window. It was a
+study. The light came from a lamp with a green shade. Under its glow
+upon the desk were maps and documents in profusion. And in the corner he
+could make out the lines of an iron-bound chest or box. They had made no
+mistake. Unless in the possession of Von Schlichter it was here that
+the Chinese treaty would be found.
+
+"All right," whispered Crabb. "An old-fashioned padlock, too."
+
+Crabb tried the window. It was locked. He took something from one of the
+pockets of his coat and reached up to the middle of the sash. There was
+a sound like the quick shearing of linen which sent the blood back to
+Burnett's heart. In the still night it seemed to come back manifold
+from the wings of the buildings opposite. They paused again. A slight
+crackling of broken glass, and Crabb's long fingers reached through the
+hole and turned the catch. In a moment they were in the room.
+
+The intangible and Quixotic had become a latter-day reality. Burnett's
+spirits rose. He did not lack courage, and here was a situation which
+spurred him to the utmost.
+
+Instinctively he closed the inside shutters behind him. From the alley
+the pair would not have presented an appearance which accorded with the
+quiet splendor of the room. He found himself peering around, his ears
+straining for the slightest sound.
+
+A glance revealed the dispatch-box, heavy, squat and phlegmatic, like
+its owner. Crabb had tiptoed over to the door of the adjoining room.
+Burnett saw the eyes dilate and the warning finger to his lips.
+
+From the inner apartment, slowly and regularly, came the sound of heavy
+breathing. There, in a broad armchair by the foot of the bed, sprawled
+the baron's valet, in stertorous sleep. His mouth was wide open, his
+limbs relaxed. He had heard nothing.
+
+"Quick," whispered Crabb; "your bandanna around his legs."
+
+Burnett surprised himself by the rapidity and intelligence of his
+collaboration. A handkerchief was slipped into the man's mouth, and
+before his eyes were fairly opened he was gagged and bound hand and foot
+by the cord from the baron's own dressing gown.
+
+From a pocket Crabb had produced a revolver, which he flourished
+significantly under the nose of the terrified man, who recoiled before
+the dark look which accompanied it.
+
+Crabb seemed to have planned exactly what to do. He took a bath towel
+and tied it over the man's ears and under his chin. From the bed he took
+the baron's sheets and blankets, enswathing the unfortunate servant
+until nothing but the tip of his nose was visible. A rope of suspenders
+and cravats completed the job.
+
+The Baron Arnim's valet, to all the purposes of usefulness in life, was
+a bundled mummy.
+
+"Phew!" said Crabb, when it was done. "Poor devil! But it can't be
+helped. He mustn't see or know. And now for it."
+
+Crabb produced a bunch of skeleton keys and an electric bull's-eye. He
+tried the keys rapidly. In a moment the dispatch-box was opened and its
+contents exposed to view.
+
+"Carefully now," whispered Crabb. "What should it look like?"
+
+"A foolscap-shaped thing in silk covers with dangling cords," said Ross.
+"There, under your hand."
+
+In a moment they had it out and between them on the desk. There it was,
+in all truth, written in two columns, Chinese on the one side, French on
+the other.
+
+"Are you sure?" said Crabb.
+
+"Sure! Sure as I'm a thief in the night!"
+
+"Then sit and write, man. Write as you never wrote before. I'll listen
+and watch Rameses the Second."
+
+In the twenty minutes during which Burnett fearfully wrote, Crabb stood
+listening at the doors and windows for sounds of servants or approaching
+carriages. The man swaddled in the sheets made a few futile struggles
+and then subsided. Burnett's eyes gleamed. Other eyes than his would
+gleam at what he saw and wrote. When he finished he closed the document,
+removed all traces of his work, replaced it in the iron box and shut the
+lid. He dropped the precious sheets into an inner pocket and was moving
+toward the window when Crabb seized him by the arm. There was a step in
+the hallway without, and the door opened. There, stout and grizzled, his
+walrus mustache bristling with surprise, in all the distinction of gold
+lace and orders, stood Baron Arnim.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+
+For a moment there was no sound. The burglars looked at the Baron and
+the Baron looked at the burglars, mouths and eyes open alike. Then, even
+before Crabb could display his intimidating revolver, the German had
+disappeared through the door screaming at the top of his lungs.
+
+"Quick! Out of the window!" said Crabb, helping Burnett over the sill.
+"Down you go--I'll follow. Don't fall. If you miss your footing, we're
+ruined."
+
+Burnett scrambled out, over the coping and down the ladder, Crabb almost
+on his fingers. But they reached the yard in safety and were out in the
+alley running in the shadow of the fence before a venturesome head stuck
+forth from the open window and a revolver blazed into the vacant air.
+
+"The devil!" said Crabb. "They'll have every copper in the city on us
+in a minute. This way." He turned into a narrow alley at right angles to
+the other. "Off with the coat as you go--now, the mustache and grease
+paint. Take your time. Into this sewer with the coats. So!"
+
+Two gentlemen in light topcoats, one in a cap, the other in a hat,
+walked up N street arm in arm, thickly singing. Their shirt fronts and
+hair were rumpled, their legs were not too steady, and they clung
+affectionately to each other for support and sang thickly.
+
+A window flew up and a tousled head appeared.
+
+"Hey!" yelled a voice. "Burglars in the alley!"
+
+"Burglars!" said one of the singers; and then: "Go to bed. You're
+drunk."
+
+More sounds of windows, the blowing of night whistles and hurrying feet.
+
+Still the revelers sang on.
+
+A stout policeman, clamorous and bellicose, broke in.
+
+"Did you see 'em? Did you see 'em?" he cried, glaring into their faces.
+Bleary eyes returned his look.
+
+"W-who?" said the voices in unison.
+
+"Burglars," roared the copper. "If I wasn't busy I'd run ye in." And he
+was off at full speed on his vagrant mission.
+
+"Lucky you're busy, old chap," muttered Crabb to the departing figure.
+"Do sober up a little, Ross, or we'll never get away. And don't jostle
+me so, for I clank like a bellwether."
+
+Slowly the pair made their way to Thomas Circle and Vermont Avenue,
+where the sounds of commotion were lost in the noises of the night.
+
+At L Street Burnett straightened up. "Lord!" he gasped. "But that was
+close."
+
+"Not as close as it looked," said Crabb, coolly. "A white shirt-front
+does wonders with a copper. It was better than a knock on the head and a
+run for it. In the meanwhile, Ross, for the love of Heaven, help me
+with some of the bric-a-brac." And with that he handed Burnett a gold
+pin tray, a silver box and a watch fob.
+
+Burnett soberly examined the spoils. "I only wish we could have done
+without that."
+
+"And had Arnim know what we were driving for? Never, Ross. I'll pawn
+them in New York for as little as I can and send von Schlichter the
+tickets. Won't that do?"
+
+"I suppose it must," said Burnett, dubiously.
+
+By three o'clock they were on the _Blue Wing_ again, Burnett with
+mingled feelings of doubt and satisfaction, Crabb afire with the
+achievement.
+
+"Rasselas was a fool, Ross, a malcontent--a _faineant_. Life is amazing,
+bewitching, consummate." And then, gayly: "Here's a health, boy--a long
+life to the new ambassador to the Court of St. James!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+But Ross did not go to the Court of St. James. In the following winter,
+to the surprise of many, the President gave him a special mission to
+prepare a trade treaty with Peru. Baron Arnim, in due course, recovered
+his bric-a-brac. Meanwhile Emperor William, mystified at the amazing
+sagacity of the Secretary of State in the Eastern question, continues
+the building of a mighty navy in the fear that one day the upstart
+nation across the ocean will bring the questions complicating them to
+an issue.
+
+But life was no longer amusing, bewitching or consummate to Crabb. The
+flavor of an adventure gone from his mouth, the commonplace became more
+flat and tasteless than before. Life was all pale drabs and grays again.
+To make matters worse he had been obliged to make a business visit in
+Philadelphia, and this filled the cup of insipidity to the brim. He was
+almost ready to wish that his benighted forbears had never owned the
+coal mines in Pennsylvania to which he had fallen heir, for it seemed
+there were many matters to be settled, contracts to be signed and
+leases to be drawn by his attorney in the sleepy city, and it would be
+several days, he discovered, before he could get off to Newport. Not
+even the _Blue Wing_ was at his disposal, for an accident in the engine
+room had laid her out of commission for two weeks at least.
+
+So he resigned himself to the inevitable, and took a room at a hotel,
+grimly determined to see the matter through, conscious meanwhile of a
+fervid hope that the unusual might happen--the lightning might strike.
+Hate he had known and fear, but love had so far eluded him. Why, he did
+not know, save that he had never been willing to perceive that emotion
+when offered in conventional forms--and since no other forms were
+possible, he had simply ceased to consider the matter. Yet marry some
+day, he must, of course. But whom? Little he dreamed how soon he would
+know. Little did Miss Patricia Wharton think that she had anything to
+do with it. In fact, Patricia's thoughts at that time were far from
+matrimony. Patricia was bored. For a month while Wharton pere boiled out
+his gout at the sulphur springs, Patricia had dutifully sat and rocked,
+tapping a small foot impatiently, looking hourly less a monument of
+Patience and smiling not at all.
+
+At last they were in Philadelphia. Wilson had opened two rooms at the
+house and a speedy termination of David Wharton's business would have
+seen them soon at Bar Harbor. But something went wrong at the office in
+Chestnut Street, and Patricia, once a lamb and now a sheep of sacrifice,
+found herself at this particular moment doomed to another weary week of
+waiting.
+
+To make matters worse not a girl Patricia knew was in town, or if there
+were any the telephone refused to discover them. Her aunt's place was at
+Haverford, but she knew that an invitation to dinner there meant aged
+Quaker cousins and that kind of creaky informality which shows a need
+of oil at the joints. That lubricant Patricia had no intention of
+supplying. She had rather be bored alone than bored in company. She
+found herself sighing for Bar Harbor as she had never sighed before. She
+pictured the cottage, cool and gray among the rocks, the blue bowl of
+the sea with its rim just at her window-ledge, the clamoring surf, and
+the briny smell with its faint suggestion of things cool and curious
+which came up newly breathed from the heart of the deep. She could hear
+"Country Girl" whinnying impatience from the stable when Jack Masters on
+"Kentucky" rode down from "The Pinnacle" to inquire.
+
+Indeed, as she walked out into the Square in the afternoon she found
+herself relapsing into a minute and somewhat sordid introspection. It
+was the weather, perhaps. Surely the dog-days had settled upon the
+sleepy city in earnest. No breath stirred the famishing trees, the smell
+of hot asphalt was in the air, locusts buzzed vigorously everywhere,
+trolley bells clanged out of tune, and the sun was leaving a blood-hot
+trail across the sky in angry augury for the morrow.
+
+Patricia sank upon a bench, and poked viciously at the walk with her
+parasol. She experienced a certain grim satisfaction in being more than
+usually alone. Poor Patricia! who at the crooking of a finger, could
+have summoned to her side any one of five estimable scions of stupid,
+distinguished families. Only something new, something difficult and
+extraordinary would lift her from the hopeless slough of despond into
+which she had found herself precipitated.
+
+Andromeda awaiting Perseus on a bench in Rittenhouse Square! She smiled
+widely and unrestrainedly up and precisely into the face of Mr. Mortimer
+Crabb.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+
+A pleasant face it was, upon which, to her surprise, a smile very
+suddenly grew into being as though in response to her own. Patricia's
+eyes dropped quickly--sedately, as became those of a decorous woman, and
+yet in that brief second in which the eyes of the tall young man met
+hers, she had noticed that they were gray, as though sun-bleached, but
+very clear and sparkling. And when she raised her own to look quite
+through and beyond the opposite bench, her conscience refused to deny
+that she had enjoyed the looking. Were the eyes smiling _at_, or
+_with_ her? In that distinction lay a question in morals. Was their
+sparkle quizzical or intrusive? She would have vowed that good humor,
+benevolence (if benevolence may be found in the eyes of two and thirty),
+and a certain polite interest were its actual ingredients. It was all
+very interesting. She surprised herself in a not unlively curiosity as
+to his life and calling, and in a lack of any sort of misgiving at the
+_contretemps_.
+
+The shadows beneath the wilted trees grew deeper. The sun swept down
+into the west and suddenly vanished with all his train of gold and
+purple. Patricia stole a furtive look at her neighbor. Triumphantly she
+confirmed her diagnosis. The man was lost in the glow of the sunset.
+Importunity and he were miles asunder.
+
+It may have been that Patricia's eyes were more potent than the sunset,
+or that her triumphant deduction was based upon a false premise, or that
+the young man had been watching her all the while from the tail of his
+benevolent eye; for without the slightest warning, his head turned
+suddenly to find the eyes of the unfortunate Patricia again fixed upon
+his. However quickly she might turn aside, the glance exchanged was
+long enough to disclose the fact that the sparkle was still there and
+to excite a suspicion that it had never been dispelled. Nor did the
+character of the smile reassure her. She was not at all certain now that
+he was not smiling both _with_ and _at_ her.
+
+The quickly averted head, the toss of the chin, seemed all too
+inadequate to the situation; yet she availed herself of those bulwarks
+of maiden modesty in virtuous effort to refute the unconscious testimony
+of her unlucky eyes. Instinct suggested immediate flight. But Patricia
+moved not. Here indeed was a case where flight meant confession. She
+felt rather than saw his gaze search her from head to foot, and struggle
+as she might against it, the warm color raced to her cheek and brow. If
+she had enjoyed the situation a moment before, the impertinence, so
+suddenly born, filled her with dismay. By some subtle feminine process
+of reasoning, she succeeded in eliminating her share in the trifling
+adventure and now saw only the sin of the offending male. At last she
+arose, the very presentment of injured and scornful dignity and walked,
+looking neither to the left hand nor to the right.
+
+There was a sound of firm, rapid footsteps and then a deep voice at her
+elbow.
+
+"I beg pardon," it was saying.
+
+The lifted straw hat, the inclined head, the mellow tones, the gray eyes
+(again benevolent), however unalarming in themselves, filled her with
+very real inquietude. Whatever he had done before, this, surely, was
+insupportable. She was about to turn away when her eye fell upon his
+extended arm and upon her luckless parasol.
+
+"I beg pardon," he repeated, "but isn't this yours?"
+
+[Illustration: "'I beg pardon,' he repeated, 'but isn't this yours?'"]
+
+The blood flew to her face again and it was with an embarrassment, a
+_gaucherie_, the like of which she could not remember, that she extended
+her hand toward the errant sunshade. No sound came from her lips; with
+bent head she took it from him. But as she walked on, she found that he
+was walking, too--with her, directly at her side. For a moment she
+was cold with terror.
+
+"I hope you'll let me go along," he was saying coolly, "I'm really quite
+harmless. If you knew--if you only knew how dreadfully bored I've been,
+you really wouldn't mind me at all."
+
+Patricia stole a hurried glance at him, her fears curiously diminished.
+
+"I'm what the fallen call a victim of circumstances," he went on. "I ask
+no worse fate for my dearest enemy than to be consigned without a friend
+to this wilderness of whitened stoops and boarded doors--to wait upon
+your city's demigod, Procrastination. This I've done for forty-eight
+hours with a dear memory of a past but without a hope for the future.
+If the Fountain of Youth were to gush hopefully from the office
+water-cooler of my aged lawyer, he would eye it askance and sigh for
+the lees of the turbid Schuylkill."
+
+However she strove to lift her brows, Patricia was smiling now in spite
+of herself.
+
+"I've followed the meandering tide down the narrow canyon you call
+Chestnut Street, watched the leisurely coal wagon and its attendant
+tail of trolleys, or sat in my hotel striving to dust aside the
+accumulating cobwebs, one small unquiet molecule of disconsolation.
+I'm stranded--marooned. By comparison, Crusoe was gregarious."
+
+During this while they were walking north. All the way to Chestnut
+Street, Patricia was wondering whether to be most alarmed or amused. Of
+one thing she was assured, she was bored no longer. A sense of the
+violence done to her traditions hung like a millstone around her neck;
+and yet Patricia found herself peeping avidly through the hole to listen
+to the seductive voice of unconvention.
+
+When Patricia succeeded in summoning her voice, she was not quite sure
+that it was her own.
+
+"You're an impertinent person," she found herself saying.
+
+"Can't you forgive?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Circumstances are against me," he said, "but I give you my word, I've a
+place in my own city, a friend or two, and a certain proclivity for
+virtue."
+
+"Even if you do--speak to strange----"
+
+"But I don't. It was the blessed parasol. Otherwise I shouldn't have
+dared."
+
+"And the proclivity for virtue----"
+
+"Why, that's exactly the reason. Can't you see? It was you! You fairly
+exuded gentility. Come now, I'm humility itself. I've sinned. How can I
+expiate?"
+
+"By letting me go home to dinner."
+
+Patricia was laughing this time. The man was looking at his watch.
+
+"What a brute I am!" He stopped, took off his hat and turned away. And
+here it was that some little frivolous genius put unmeditated words upon
+Patricia's tongue.
+
+"I'm not so dreadfully hungry," she said.
+
+After all, he had been impertinent so very courteously.
+
+In a moment he was at her side again.
+
+"That was kind of you. Perhaps you've forgiven me."
+
+"N--no," with rising inflection.
+
+"Come now! Let's be friends, just for this little while. Let's begin at
+once to believe we've known each other always--just for to-night. I will
+be getting out of town to-morrow and we won't meet again. I'm certain of
+that."
+
+"How can I be sure?" Patricia spoke as though thinking aloud.
+
+"They've promised me this time. I'll go away to-morrow. If my papers
+aren't ready I'll leave without them."
+
+"Will you give me your word?"
+
+"Upon my honor."
+
+Patricia turned for the first time and looked directly up at him. What
+value could she set upon the honor of one she knew not? Whatever the
+feminine process of examination, she seemed satisfied.
+
+"What can I do? It's almost dusk."
+
+"I was about to suggest--er--I thought perhaps you might be willing
+to--er--go and have a bite--to eat--in fact, dinner."
+
+Patricia stopped and looked up at him in startled abstraction. The word
+and its train of associated ideas evolved in significant fashion from her
+mental topsy-turvy. Dinner! With a strange man in a public place! The
+prosaic word took new and curious meanings unwritten upon the lexicon of
+her code. There was the tangible presentation of her sin--that she might
+read and run while there was yet time. How had it all happened? What had
+this insolent person said to make it possible for her to forget herself
+for so long?
+
+With no word of explanation her small feet went hurrying down the hill
+while his big ones strode protestingly alongside.
+
+"Well?" he said at last.
+
+But she gave him no answer and only walked the faster.
+
+"You're going?"
+
+"Home--at once." She spoke with cold incisiveness.
+
+He walked along a few moments in silence--then said assertively:
+
+"You're afraid."
+
+For reply she only shook her head.
+
+"It's true," he went on. "You're afraid. A moment ago, you were willing
+to forget we had just met. Now in a breath you're willing to forget that
+we've met at all."
+
+But she would not answer.
+
+He glanced at the poise of the haughty head just below his own. Was it
+mock virtue? He felt thoroughly justified in believing it so.
+
+They had reached a corner. Patricia stopped.
+
+"You'll let me go here, won't you? You'll not follow me or try to find
+out anything, will you? Say you won't, please, please! It has all been
+a dreadful mistake--how dreadful I didn't know until--until just now. I
+must go--alone, you understand--alone----"
+
+"But it is getting dark, you----"
+
+"No, no! It doesn't matter. I'm not afraid. How can I be--now? Please
+let me go--alone. Good-by!"
+
+And in a moment she had vanished in the cross street.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+
+Mortimer Crabb watched the retreating figure.
+
+"H-m," he said, "the Eternal Question--as usual--without the answer. And
+yet I would have sworn that that parasol in the Square----"
+
+He had always possessed an attitude of amused and tolerant patronage for
+the City of Brotherly Love--it was the birthright of any typical New
+Yorker--and yet since that inconsiderable adventure in Rittenhouse
+Square, he had discovered undreamed-of virtues in the Pennsylvania
+metropolis. It was a city not of apartments, but of homes--homes
+in which men lived with their families and brought up interesting
+children in the old-fashioned way--a city of conservative progress, of
+historic association, of well-guarded tradition--an American city, in
+short--which New York was not. At the Bachelors' Club he sang its
+praises, and mentioned a plan of wintering there, but was laughed at for
+his pains. Anything unusual and extraordinary was to be expected of
+Mortimer Crabb. But a winter in Philadelphia! This was too preposterous.
+
+Crabb said nothing in reply. He only smiled politely and when the _Blue
+Wing_ was put in commission went off on a cruise with no other company
+but his thoughts and Captain Jepson. Jepson under ordinary circumstances
+would have been sufficient, but now Mortimer Crabb spent much time in a
+deck chair reading in a book of poems, or idly gazing at the swirl of
+foam in the vessel's wake. Jepson wondered what he was thinking of, for
+Crabb was not a man to spend much time in dreaming, and the Captain
+would have given much that he possessed to know. He would have been
+surprised if Mortimer Crabb had told him. To tell the truth Crabb was
+thinking--of a parasol. He was wondering if after all, his judgment had
+been erring. The lady in the Square had left the parasol, it was true.
+But then all the tribe of parasols and umbrellas seemed born to the fate
+of being neglected and forgotten, and there was no reason why this
+particular specimen of the genus should be exempt from the frailties of
+its kind. As he remembered, it was a flimsy thing of green silk and
+lace, obviously a French frippery which might be readily guilty of such
+a form of naughtiness.
+
+It had long worried him to think that he might have misjudged the
+sleeping princess--as he had learned to call her--and he knew that it
+would continue to worry him until he proved the matter one way or
+another for himself. Had she really forgotten the parasol? Or had
+she--not forgotten it?
+
+The cruise ended, the summer lengthened into fall, and winter found
+Mortimer Crabb established in residence at a fashionable hotel in
+Philadelphia.
+
+Letters had come from New York to certain Philadelphia dowagers in the
+councils of the mighty, to the end that in due course Crabb accepted for
+several desirable dinners, and before he knew he found himself in the
+full swing of a social season. And so when the night of the Assembly
+came around, he found himself dining at the house of one of his sponsors
+in a party wholly given over to the magnification of three tremulous
+young female persons, who were to receive their _cachet_ and certificate
+of eligibility in attending that ancient and honorable function.
+
+It was just at the top of the steps leading to the foyer of the
+ball-room that Crabb met Patricia Wharton in the crowd, face to face.
+The encounter was unavoidable. He saw the brief question in her glance
+before she placed him, the vanishing smile, the momentary pallor, and
+then was conscious that she had gone by, her eyes looking past him, her
+brows slightly raised, her lips drawn together, the very letter of
+indifference and contempt. It was cutting advanced to the dignity of a
+fine art. Crabb felt the color rise to his temples and heard the young
+bud at his side saying:
+
+"What is it, Mr. Crabb? You look as if you'd seen the ghost of all your
+past transgressions."
+
+"_All_ of them, Miss Cheston! Oh, I hope I don't look as bad as that,"
+he laughed. "Only one--a very tiny one."
+
+"Do tell me," cried the bud.
+
+"First, let's safely run the gantlet of the lorgnons."
+
+When the party was assembled and past the grenadiers who jealously guard
+the sacred inner bulwarks, Crabb was glad to relinquish his companion to
+another, while he sought seclusion behind a bank of azaleas to watch the
+moving dancers. So she really _was_ somebody. He began, for a moment, to
+doubt the testimony of the vagrant glances and the guilty parasol. Could
+he have been mistaken? Had she really forgotten the parasol after all?
+The situation was brutal enough for her and he was quite prepared to
+respect her delicacy. What he did resent was the way in which she had
+done it. She had taken to cover angrily and stood at bay with all her
+woman's weapons sharpened. The curl of lip and narrowed eye bespoke a
+degree of disdain quite out of proportion to the offense. But he made a
+rapid resolution not to seek her or meet her eye. If his was the fault,
+it was the only reparation he could offer her.
+
+As he whirled around the room with his little bud, he caught a glimpse
+of her upon the opposite side and so maneuvered that he would come no
+nearer. When he had guided his partner to a seat, it did not take him
+long to gratify a very natural curiosity.
+
+"Will you tell me," he asked, "who--no, don't look now--the girl in the
+black spangly dress is?"
+
+"Who? Where?" asked Miss Cheston. "Patricia, you mean? Of course! Miss
+Wharton, my cousin. Haven't you met her?"
+
+"Er--no! She's good-looking."
+
+"Isn't she? And the dearest creature--but rather cold and the least bit
+prim."
+
+"Pri--Oh, really!"
+
+"Yes! We're Quakers, you know. She belongs to the older set. Perhaps
+that's why she seems a trifle cold and--er--conventional."
+
+"Convent--! Oh, yes, of course."
+
+"You know we're really quite a breezy lot, if you only know us. Some of
+this year's debs are really very dreadful."
+
+"How shocking, and Miss Wharton is not dreadful?"
+
+"Oh, dear, no. But she is awfully good fun. Come, you must meet her. Let
+me take you over."
+
+But good fortune in the person of Stephen Ventnor intervened.
+
+It was the unexpected which was to happen. Crabb was returning from the
+table with a favor. His eye ran along the line of chairs in a brief
+fruitless search. Mr. Barclay, who was leading the cotillion, caught his
+eye at this precise psychological moment.
+
+"Stranded, Crabb? Let me present you to----"
+
+He mentioned no name but was off in a moment winding in and out among
+those on the floor. Crabb followed. When he had succeeded in eluding the
+imminent dancers and had reached the other side of the room, there was
+Barclay bending over.
+
+"Awfully nice chap--stranger," he was saying, and then aloud, "Miss
+Wharton, may I present--Mr. Crabb?"
+
+It was all over in a moment. The crowded room had hidden the black dress
+and the fair hair. But it was too late. Barclay was off in a second and
+there they were looking again into each other's eyes, Patricia pale and
+cold as stone, Crabb a trifle ill at ease at the awkward situation
+which, however appearances were against him, was none of his choosing.
+
+Crabb inclined his head and extended the hand which carried his favor.
+They both glanced down, seeking in that innocent trinket a momentary
+refuge from the predicament. It was then for the first time that Crabb
+discovered the thing he was offering her--a little frivolous green silk
+parasol.
+
+She looked up at him again, her eyes blazing, but she rose to her feet
+and looked around her as though seeking some mode of escape. He fully
+expected that she would refuse to dance, and was preparing to withdraw
+as gracefully as he might when, with chin erect and eyes which looked
+and carried her spirit quite beyond him, she took the parasol and
+followed him upon the floor.
+
+But the subtlety of suggestion which seemed to possess Crabb's particular
+little comedy was to be still more amusingly developed. The figure in
+which they became a part was a pretty vari-colored whirl of flowers and
+ribbons, in which the green parasols were destined to play a part. For a
+miniature Maypole was brought and the parasols were fastened to the
+depending ribbons in accordance with their color.
+
+As the figure progressed and the dancers interwove, Crabb could not
+fail to note the recurrent intentional snub. He felt himself blameless
+in the unlucky situation, and this needless display of hostility so
+clearly expressed seemed made in very bad taste. Each time he passed
+the flaunted shoulder, the upcast chin, or curling lip, he found his
+humility to be growing less and less until as the dance neared its end
+he glowed with a very righteous ire. If she had meant to deny him
+completely, she should have chosen the opportunity when he had first
+come up. And as he passed her, he rejoiced in the discovery that she had
+inadvertently chosen the other end of the ribbon attached to the very
+parasol which he bore. When the May dance was over, Miss Wharton found
+Mr. Crabb at her side handing her the green parasol precisely as he had
+handed her that other one in the Square six months before.
+
+"I beg pardon," he was saying quizzically, "but isn't this yours?"
+
+The accent and benevolent eye were unmistakable. If there were any
+arrow in her quiver of scorn unshot, his effrontery completely disarmed
+her. If looks could have killed, Crabb must have died at once. Assured
+of the depths of his infamy, she could only murmur rather faintly:
+
+"I shall go to my seat, at once, please." Indeed, Crabb was a very
+lively corpse. He was smiling coolly down at her.
+
+"Certainly, if you wish it. Only--er--I hope you'll let me go along."
+
+How she hated him! The words uttered again with the same smiling
+effrontery seemed to be burned anew into her memory. Could she never be
+free from this inevitable man? Her seat was at the far end of the room.
+
+"I think you have done me some injustice," he said quietly, and then,
+"It has been a pleasant dance. Thank you so much."
+
+"Thank you," replied Patricia acidly, and he was gone.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+
+Miss Wharton rather crossly dismissed her weary maid, and threw herself
+into an armchair. Odious situation! Her peccadillo had found her out!
+What made the matter still worse was the ingenuous impeccability of her
+villain. On every hand she heard his praises sung. And it vexed her that
+she had been unable to contribute anything to his detriment. Of course,
+after seeing her leave the parasol it would have been stupid of him
+to--to let her forget it. In her thoughts that adventure had long since
+been condoned. It was this new _rencontre_ which had so upset her. It
+angered her to think how little delicacy he gave her credit for when he
+had asked Jack Barclay to present him. If they had met by chance, it
+would have been different. She would have been sharply civil, but not
+retrospective; and would have trusted to his sense of the situation to
+be the same. That he had assailed her helpless barriers, wrote him down
+a brute, divested him of all the garments of sensibility in which she
+had clothed him. It angered her to think that her fancy had seen fit to
+make him any other than he was. But mingled with her anger, she was
+surprised to discover disappointment, too. It was this--this person who
+shared with her the secret of her one iniquity.
+
+She pulled impatiently at her long gloves and arose with an air of
+finality. And so Miss Wharton put the importunate Mr. Crabb entirely
+from her mind; until the following Thursday night at the dinner at the
+Hollingsworths'.
+
+"Patty, dear, have you met Mr. Crabb?" Mrs. Hollingsworth was saying.
+
+Miss Wharton had, at the Assembly.
+
+Mr. Crabb politely echoed; and Patricia hated him for the nebulous smile
+which seemed to contain hidden meanings. But she rose to the occasion
+in a way which seemed to disconcert her companion--who only answered her
+rapid fire of commonplaces in monosyllables. At the table she found
+her refuge upon the other side to be an Italian from the embassy at
+Washington, whose French limped but whose English was a cripple. And so
+they minced and stuttered, Ollendorf fashion, through the oysters and
+soup, while Crabb occupied himself with the daughter of the house upon
+his other side. But at last Patty was aware that Mr. Crabb was speaking.
+
+"Miss Wharton," he began, "I fear I've been put somewhat under a cloud."
+
+"Really," she answered sweetly, "how so?"
+
+A little disconcerted but undismayed, he continued:
+
+"Because of the manner of our meeting."
+
+"Our meeting!" she said uncertainly.
+
+"At the Assembly, you know. I thought perhaps that--you thought--I'd
+asked to be presented."
+
+"Didn't you? Then, how did we happen to meet?"
+
+He could not but admire her _sang-froid_. She was smiling a non-committal
+smile at the centerpiece.
+
+"Er--I should explain. I was adrift and Barclay came to my rescue. I
+give you my word, I had no notion it was to you he was taking me. It was
+all over in a second."
+
+"Then you really didn't wish to meet me? I'm so sorry."
+
+She had turned her face slowly to his and was looking him levelly in the
+eyes. It was a challenge, not a petition. He met her thrust fairly.
+
+"My dear Miss Wharton," he smiled, "how could I know what you were
+like--er--if I'd never seen you?"
+
+This time he fairly set her weapon flying.
+
+"What I wish you to understand," he continued, steadily, "is that I
+didn't know that Barclay was taking me to you. I wish credit for a
+certain delicacy. I should not have cared to force myself upon you."
+
+"I'm sure I shouldn't have minded in the least," she said, lightly. "I'm
+not so difficult as all that."
+
+As soon as she had spoken she knew she had overshot her mark.
+
+"That's awfully good of you, you know. I'm sure you'll admit I had no
+means of knowing," he added, "how difficult you were."
+
+She flushed a little before returning to the attack.
+
+"Of course a girl wishes to know a little something about a man
+before----"
+
+"Before she permits herself to misjudge him." He smiled. "Candidly, do
+you feel in any better position to judge me now than you did before----"
+
+"Before the Assembly?" she interrupted. "I think so. You don't eat with
+your knife," laughing. "You've a respect for the napkin. People say
+you're clever. Why shouldn't I believe them?"
+
+"If this is your creed of morality, I'm respectability itself. Can you
+doubt me? Why won't you be frank? If I'm respectable why shouldn't you
+have cared to meet me?"
+
+"I'm not sure I thought very much about it. How did you know I didn't
+wish to meet you?"
+
+"How could I know you did?"
+
+She looked up at him, a new expression on her face.
+
+"I didn't," she said quietly, "I--I--abhorred the very thought of you."
+
+Crabb looked contemplatively at his truffle. "I thank you for your
+candor," he replied at last.
+
+Then after a pause, "If you'll forgive me, I'll promise not to mention
+the subject again."
+
+"And if I don't forgive you?"
+
+"You're at my mercy for this hour at least," he laughed.
+
+"I can still fly to Italy," she replied. "I could forgive you, I think,
+but for one thing."
+
+He looked the question.
+
+"This dinner. Is it to chance that I'm indebted for the--the--honor of
+your society?"
+
+Crabb's gaze had dropped to the table, but she had seen just such a
+sparkle in them once before. Nor when he looked at her had it
+disappeared.
+
+"You mean----"
+
+She continued gazing at him steadily.
+
+"You mean--did I arrange it?" he asked.
+
+Patricia bowed her head.
+
+"How could I have done so?" he urged.
+
+"Isn't Nick Hollingsworth an intimate friend of yours?"
+
+"Yes, but I fail to see----"
+
+"Will you deny it?"
+
+"I'm afraid you'll have to take me a little on faith," he pleaded. "At
+any rate you will not suffer long. I'm leaving town in a few days."
+
+"For long?" she asked politely.
+
+"For good, I think. Won't you let me come in to see you before then?"
+
+"Perhaps----"
+
+But Mrs. Hollingsworth had cast her glance down the line and drawn back
+her chair.
+
+When the men came down into the drawing room, Mr. Crabb discovered
+that Miss Wharton had carefully ensconced herself in the center of a
+perimeter of skirts, which defied disintegration and apportionment.
+There was music and afterwards a call for carriages. So Mr. Crabb saw no
+more of Miss Wharton upon that night. Nor, indeed, did Patricia see him
+again. The following day he called. She was out. Then came a note and
+some roses. Business had called him sooner than he had expected. He
+begged to assure her of his distinguished consideration; would she
+forgive him now that he was gone, accept this new impertinence and
+forget all those that had gone before?
+
+Patricia accepted the impertinence; and for many days it filled her
+little white room with seductive odors that made his last admonition
+more difficult.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+
+The months of winter passed and Crabb returned not. July found the
+Whartons again at Bar Harbor. Patricia would go out for hours in her
+canoe or her sailboat, rejoicing with bronzed cheek and hardening
+muscles in the buffets and caresses of Frenchman's Bay. It was a very
+tiny catboat that she had learned to manage herself and in which she
+would tolerate no male hand at the helm except in the stiffest blows.
+
+One quiet afternoon, early in August, she was sailing alone down toward
+Sorrento. It was one of those brilliant New England days when every
+detail of water and sky shone clear as an amethyst. Here and there
+a sail cut a sharp yellow rhomboid from the velvet woods. Patricia
+listened idly to the lapping of the tiny waves and found herself
+thinking again rather uncomfortably of the one person who had caught
+her off her guard and kept her there. If he had only stayed in
+Philadelphia one week more, she could at least have retired with drums
+beating and colors flying.
+
+A sound distracted her. She looked to leeward under the lifting sail and
+on her bow, well out in the open off Stave Island, she could make out
+the lines of an overturned canoe and two figures in the water. She
+quickly loosed the sheet and shifted her helm and bore down rapidly upon
+the unfortunates. She could see a man bearing upon one end of the canoe
+lifting the other into the air, trying to get the water out; but each
+time he did so, a bull terrier dog swam to the gunwale and overturned it
+again. She sped by to leeward and, skilfully turning her little craft
+upon its heel, came up into the wind alongside.
+
+"How do you do?" said the moistful person, smiling.
+
+The hair was streaked down into his eyes. He hardly wondered that she
+didn't recognize him.
+
+"Mr. Crabb!" she said at last, rather faintly, "how did you happen----"
+
+"It was the dog," he said cheerfully. "I thought he understood canoes."
+
+"He might have drowned you. Why, it's Jack Masters' 'Teddy,'" she cried.
+"Here, Teddy, come aboard at once, sir." She bent over the low freeboard
+and by dint of much hauling managed to get him in.
+
+In the meantime, the catboat had drifted away from the canoe. Crabb had
+at last succeeded in getting in and was now bailing with his cap.
+
+"Won't you come over?" shouted Patricia.
+
+"Oh, I'm all right," he returned. "It was the dog I was worried about."
+Then for the first time he was aware that the paddle had drifted off and
+was now floating a hundred yards away.
+
+"I'm sorry, but my paddle is adrift."
+
+So Patricia, amid much barking from the rejuvenated Teddy, came alongside
+again.
+
+There sat the bedraggled and dripping Crabb in three inches of water,
+his empty hands upon the gunwales, looking rather foolishly up at the
+blue eyes that were smiling rather whimsically down.
+
+She could not resist the temptation to banter him. Had she prayed for
+vengeance, nothing could have been sent to her sweeter than this.
+
+"You look rather--er--glum," she said.
+
+"I'm not," he replied, calmly. "I've not been so happy in months."
+
+"What on earth is there to prevent my sailing off and leaving you?" she
+laughed.
+
+"Nothing," he said. "I'm all right. I'll swim for the paddle when I'm
+rested."
+
+"Have you thought I might take that with me, too?" she asked sweetly.
+
+"All right," he laughed, trying to suppress the chattering teeth.
+"Somebody'll be along presently."
+
+"Don't be too sure. You're really very much at my mercy."
+
+"You were not always so unkind."
+
+"Mr. Crabb!" Patricia retired in confusion to the tiller. "You're
+impudent!" She hauled in her sheet and the boat gathered headway.
+
+"Please, Miss Wharton, please!" he shouted. But Patricia did not move
+from the tiller, and the catboat glided off. He watched her sail down
+and recover the paddle and then head back toward him.
+
+"Won't you forgive me and take me in?"
+
+"I suppose I must. But I'm sure I'd rather you'd drown. I'm hardly in
+the mood for coals of fire."
+
+"I am, though," he chattered, "for I'm d--deucedly c--cold."
+
+"You don't deserve it. But if you were drowned I suppose I'd be to
+blame. I wouldn't have you on my conscience again for anything."
+
+"Then please take me on your boat."
+
+"Will you behave yourself?"
+
+"I'll try."
+
+"And never again refer to--to----"
+
+"Um----"
+
+"Then please come in--out of the wet."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was toward the end of August when the southeast wind had raised a
+gray and thunderous sea, that two persons sat under the lee of a rock
+near Great Head and watched the giant breakers shatter themselves to
+foam. They sat very close together, and the little they said was drowned
+in the roar of the elements. But they did not care. They were willing
+just to sit and watch the fruitless struggles of the swollen waters.
+
+"Won't you tell me," said the girl at last, "about that dinner? Didn't
+you really ask Mrs. Hollingsworth to send you in with me?"
+
+The man looked amusedly off at the jagged horizon.
+
+"No, I really didn't," he said, and then, after a pause, with a laugh:
+"but Nick did."
+
+"Whited sepulcher!" said the girl. Another pause. This time the man
+questioned:
+
+"There is another thing--won't you tell me? About the parasol last
+summer--did you forget it, really--or--or--just leave it?"
+
+"Mortimer!" she cried, flushing furiously. "I didn't!"
+
+But he assisted her in hiding her face, smiling down benevolently the
+while.
+
+"Really? Honestly? Truly?" he said, softly.
+
+"I didn't--I didn't," she repeated.
+
+"Didn't what?" he still persevered.
+
+She looked up at him for a moment, flushed more furiously than
+before and sought refuge anew. But the muffled reply was perfectly
+distinguishable to the man.
+
+"I--I--_didn't_--forget it."
+
+But the Great Head rocks didn't hear.
+
+Thus Mortimer Crabb, having spent much of his time in making opportunities
+for other people, had at last succeeded in making one for himself.
+
+He had the pleasure of knowing, too, that he was also making one for
+Patty--not that this was Miss Wharton's first opportunity, for everyone
+knew that her rather sedate demeanor concealed a capricious coquetry
+which she could no more control than she could the music of the spheres.
+But this was going to be a different kind of opportunity, for Crabb had
+decided that not only was she going to be engaged to him, but that when
+the time came she was going to marry him.
+
+This decision reached, he spent all of his time in convincing her that
+he was the one man in the world exactly suited to her protean moods. The
+sum of his possessions had not been made known to her, and he delighted
+in planning his surprise. So that when the _Blue Wing_ appeared in the
+harbor, he invited her for a sail in her own catboat, calmly took the
+helm in spite of her protests, and before she was aware of it, had made
+a neat landing at his own gangway. Jepson poked his head over the side
+and welcomed them, grinning broadly, and, following Crabb's inviting
+gesture, Patricia went up on deck feeling very much like the lady who
+had married the Lord of Burleigh. Then Jepson gave some mysterious
+orders and before long she was reclining luxuriously in a deck chair and
+the _Blue Wing_ was breasting the surges which showed the way to the
+open sea.
+
+"'All of this,'" quoted Crabb gayly, with a fine gesture which
+comprehended the whole of the North Atlantic Ocean, "'is mine and
+thine.'"
+
+"It's very nice of you to be so rich. Why didn't you tell me?" said
+Patricia.
+
+"Because I had a certain pride in wanting you to like me for myself."
+
+"You think I would have married you for your money?"
+
+"Oh, yes," he said, promptly, "of course you would. A rich man has about
+as much chance of entering the Kingdom of Romance as the Biblical camel
+has to get through the eye of the needle."
+
+"Why is it then that I find you so very much more attractive now that
+I've found the _Blue Wing_?"
+
+"But you found _me_ first," he laughed.
+
+"Did I?" archly.
+
+"If you still doubt it, there's the parasol!"
+
+The mention of the parasol always silenced her.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+
+That was one of many cruises, and the _Blue Wing_ contributed not a
+little to the gayety of the waning days of summer at Mount Desert. It
+was the _Blue Wing_, too, that in early September brought the Wharton
+family, bag and baggage, southward to Philadelphia, where Mortimer Crabb
+lingered, hoping to exact a promise of marriage before Christmas.
+But Patricia would make no promises. She had a will of her own, her
+fiance discovered, and had no humor to forego the independence of her
+spinsterhood for the responsibilities which awaited her. It was in this
+situation that Crabb discovered himself to be possessed of surprising
+virtues in tolerance and tact. Patricia, he knew, had many admirers. The
+woods at Bar Harbor had been, both figuratively and literally, filled
+with them, and most of them had been eligible. Jack Masters, and
+Stephen Ventnor, who lived in Philadelphia, were still warm in pursuit
+of the fair quarry, who had not yet consented to an announcement of her
+engagement to Crabb.
+
+But these men caused him little anxiety. They were both quite young and
+quite callow and stood little chance with a cosmopolitan of Crabb's
+caliber. But there was another man of whom people spoke. His name was
+Heywood Pennington, and for three years he had been off a-soldiering in
+the Philippines. It had only been a boy-and-girl affair, of course, and
+most people in Philadelphia had forgotten it, but from his well-stored
+memory Crabb recalled at least one calf-love that had later grown into a
+veritable bull-in-the-china-shop. It was not that he didn't believe
+fully that Patricia would marry him, and it wasn't that he didn't
+believe in Patricia. It was only that he knew that for the first time in
+his life, his whole happiness depended upon that least stable but most
+wonderful of creatures, the unconscious coquette. Moreover, Mortimer
+Crabb believed firmly in himself, and he also believed that, married to
+him, Patricia would be safely fulfilling her manifest destiny.
+
+But the Philippine soldier kept bobbing up into Crabb's background at
+the most inopportune moments: once when the soldier's name had been
+mentioned on the _Blue Wing_, and Patricia had sighed and turned her
+gaze to the horizon, again at a dinner at Bar Harbor, and later in
+Philadelphia, at the Club. Bit by bit Crabb had learned Heywood
+Pennington's history, from the wild college days, through his short
+business career to the tempestuous and scarcely honorable adventures
+which had led to his enlistment under a false name in the regular army
+three years ago. It was not a creditable history for a fellow of
+Pennington's antecedents, and when his name was mentioned, even the
+fellows who had known him longest, turned aside and dismissed him with a
+word.
+
+The name of the soldier never passed between the engaged couple, and so
+far as Crabb was concerned, Mr. Pennington might never have existed.
+
+Patricia lacked nothing which the most exacting fiancee might require.
+Roses and violets arrived regularly at the Wharton country place near
+Haverford, and in the afternoons Crabb himself came in a motor car,
+always cheerful, always patient, always original and amusing.
+
+To such a wooing, placid, and ardent by turns, Patty yielded inevitably,
+and at last, late in September, consented to announce the engagement.
+The news was received in her own family circle with delighted amazement,
+for Mortimer Crabb had by this time made many friends in Philadelphia,
+and Miss Wharton had refused so many offers that her people, remembering
+Pennington, had decided that their handsome relative was destined to a
+life of single blessedness. They bestirred themselves at once in a round
+of entertainments in her honor, the first of which was a lawn party and
+masque at her uncle Philip Wharton's country place, near Bryn Mawr.
+
+Philip Wharton never did things by halves, and society, back from the
+seashore and mountains, welcomed the first large entertainment which was
+to mark the beginning of the country life between seasons.
+
+The gay crowds swarmed out from the wide doorways, into the balmy night,
+liberated from the land of matter-of-fact into a domain of enchantment.
+Gayly caparisoned cavaliers, moving in the spirit of the characters they
+represented strode gallantly in the train of their ladies whose graceful
+draperies floated like film from white shoulders and caught in their
+silken meshes the shimmer of the moonbeams. Bright eyes flashed from
+slits in masks and bolder ones looked searchingly into them. All of the
+ages had assembled upon a common meeting ground; a cinquecento rubbed
+elbows with an American Indian, Joan of Arc was cajoling a Crusader, a
+nun was hazarding her hope of salvation in flirtation with the devil,
+the eyes of a Puritan maid fell before the glances of a matador. Nothing
+had been spared in costume or in setting to make the picture complete.
+The music halted a moment and then swept into the rhythm of a waltz. A
+murmur of delight and like a change in the kaleidoscope the pieces all
+converged upon the terrace.
+
+It was here that a diversion occurred. A laugh went up from a group upon
+the steps and their glances were turned in one direction. Seated upon
+the balustrade in the glow of the Chinese lanterns sat a tramp, drinking
+a glass of punch from the refreshment table close at hand. It was a
+wonderful disguise that he wore. The shirt of some dark material, was
+stained and torn, the hat, of the brown, army type, was battered out of
+shape, and many holes had been bored into the crown. The trousers had
+worn to the color of dry grass and the boots were old, patched, and
+yellow with mud and grime. In place of the conventional black mask, he
+wore a bandanna handkerchief tied around his brow, with holes for the
+eyes. The ends of the handkerchief hung to his breast and hid his
+features, but under its edges could be seen a brown ear and a patchy
+beard. As the crowd watched him he lifted his glass aloft solemnly and
+made the motions of drinking their health. There was a roar of applause.
+A whimsical arrogance in the pose of the squarely-made shoulders and the
+tilt of the head gave an additional interest to the somber figure.
+He looked like a drawing from the pages of a comic weekly, but the
+ostentation of his gesture gave him a dignity that made the resemblance
+less assured. As the people crowded around him and sought to pierce his
+disguise, he got down from his perch and strolled away into the shadows.
+When the music stopped again he was surrounded by a curious group, but
+he towered in their center grotesque, and inscrutable. To those who
+questioned him too closely he mumbled at their meddling and told them to
+be off. Then he tightened his belt and asked when supper would be ready.
+
+"Are you hungry?" someone asked. He glared at the questioner.
+
+"What kind of a tramp would I be if I wasn't hungry?" he growled, and
+those around him laughed again. So they took him to a table and fed him.
+He ate ravenously. They got him something to drink and it seemed to
+vanish down his throat without even touching his lips.
+
+"Isn't he splendid?" said Patricia Wharton, who, with Mortimer Crabb,
+had just come up. "But who----? I can't think of anyone, and yet----"
+
+The tramp looked up at her suddenly and dropped his fork upon the table.
+
+"_Splendid_," he cried. "That's me. _Splendid._ I sure glitter in this
+bunch, don't I?"
+
+There was something irresistibly comic in the gesture with which he
+swept the group.
+
+Patricia was still watching him--a puzzled expression in her eyes.
+
+"Who is he?" she asked; but Crabb shook his head. "I haven't an
+idea--but he _is_ clever. And look at those boots--they're the real
+thing. I wouldn't want to try to dance in them, though."
+
+The tramp drained his glass--set it down on the table and wiped his
+mouth on the back of his hand--rose and disappeared between the palms
+and hydrangeas into the darkness.
+
+For a guest in good standing the tramp then behaved strangely, for when
+he had reached a sheltered spot, in the bushes at the end of the English
+Garden, he sank at full length upon the grass and buried his head in his
+hands, groaning aloud. It was three years since he had seen her--three
+years, and yet she was just as he had seen her last. Time had touched her
+lightly, only caressing her playfully, rounding her features to matured
+beauty, while he---- A vision of camps, cities, skirmishes, orgies, came
+out of his mind in a disordered procession, all culminating in the
+incident which had brought him to ruin. Every detail of _that_ at least
+was clear; the sudden rage where the bonds of patience had reached the
+snapping point--and then the blow. The tramp laughed outright. He could
+see now the smirk on the face of the drunken lieutenant as he toppled
+over backward and struck his head on the edge of the mahogany table.
+After that--irons, the court martial, the transport, Alcatraz, his
+chance, the friendly plank, the swim for the mainland, and freedom. He
+had never heard whether the man lived or died. He didn't much care. He
+got what was coming to him.
+
+The tramp was a fugitive still. He had walked since morning from Malvern
+station, where he had been thrown off the freight train on which he
+had worked a ride east from Harrisburg. At Bryn Mawr he had begged a
+meal--the irony of it had sunk into his soul--at the back door of a
+country house at which he had once been a welcome guest. A gossipy
+chauffeur had let him into his garage for a rest and had given
+him a cigarette over which he had learned the recent doings in the
+neighborhood. The thought of venturing into Philip Wharton's grounds
+that night had entered his madcap brain while he lay in the woods along
+the Gulf Road, trying to make up his mind whether his tired feet would
+carry him the twelve miles that remained between him and the city.
+
+Why had he returned? God knew. His feet had dragged him onward as though
+impelled by some force beyond his power to resist. Now that he was near
+the home of his boyhood it seemed as if any other place in the world
+would have been better. It was so real--the peaceful respectability
+of this country--so like Her. And yet its very peacefulness and
+respectability angered him. Was it nothing to have hungered and
+thirsted and sweated that the honor of these people and that of others
+like them might be preserved? Even Patricia's blamelessness was
+intolerant--reproachful. The springs of memory that had gushed forth
+just now at the sight of her were dried in their source. There was a
+dull ache, a sinking of the spirit that was almost a physical pain; but
+the unreasoning fever of the wayward boy, the wrenching fury of the
+outcast soldier were lacking, and for a long time he lay where he had
+fallen without moving.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+
+Patricia Wharton stood a moment on the edge of the terrace after the
+dance, slipped her hand into Mortimer Crabb's arm and came down upon the
+path, drawing a drapery across her white shoulders.
+
+"What is it?" asked Crabb. "You are not cold?"
+
+"Oh, no," she said quietly. "I think I am a little tired."
+
+"Come," he said. "There's a beautiful spot--just here." He led her
+across the lawn and through an opening in the trees to a garden-bench in
+the shadow, a spot which none of the other maskers had discovered.
+Through the leafy screen they could see the gay figures floating like
+will-o'-the-wisps across the golden lawn, but here they were quiet and
+unobserved. Patricia sank upon the bench with a sigh, while Crabb sat
+beside her.
+
+"Are you happy?" he asked after awhile.
+
+"Perfectly," she murmured. "What a beautiful party!" She placed her hand
+in his and moved a little closer to him, then sat listlessly, her eyes
+seeking the spaces between the branches where the people were. "I don't
+want to grow old too soon," she was saying. "The whole world is in short
+clothes to-night. Wouldn't it be good to be young forever?"
+
+Crabb smiled indulgently.
+
+"Yes," he said. "It is good to be young. But isn't it anything to take
+your place in the world? I want you to know all a man can do for the
+woman he loves. Won't you let me? Soon?" He bent over her and took the
+rounded arm in his strong hand. She did not withdraw it, but something
+told him a link of sympathy was lacking in the chain. As she did not
+reply he straightened and sat moodily looking before him.
+
+"Don't think me capricious, please," she began. "You're everything I
+can hope for--and yet----"
+
+"And yet?" he repeated.
+
+She paused a moment, then broke in, "Forgive me, won't you? I don't know
+what it is. Something has affected me strangely." She leaned against the
+back of the bench, rested her head in her hand, away from him, and Crabb
+turned jealously toward her.
+
+"You were thinking--of him--of the other."
+
+"Why shouldn't I be honest with you? I can't help it. Something has
+suddenly brought him into my mind. I was wondering----"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I was wondering where he is now--to-night. It is so beautiful here.
+Everything has been done to make us happy. I was thinking that perhaps
+if I had written him a line I might have saved him some terrible trial.
+It was only a boy-and-girl affair, of course, but----"
+
+Patricia suddenly stopped speaking, and both of them turned their heads
+toward the dark bank of bushes behind them.
+
+"What was it?" she asked.
+
+"A dead branch falling," he replied.
+
+They listened again, but all they heard was the sound of the orchestra
+and the voices of the dancers.
+
+"You're teaching me a lesson in patience," Crabb began again soberly. "I
+can wait, of course. I'm not jealous of _him_," he said. "I was only
+wondering how you could think of him at all."
+
+"I don't think of him--not in _that_ way. I believe I haven't thought of
+him at all--until to-night. To-night, I can't help thinking of others
+less fortunate than ourselves. I suppose it's only the natural thing
+that he should suffer. He never seemed to get things right, somehow; his
+point of view was always askew. He was a wild boy--but he was human."
+
+She paused and clasped her hands before her. Crabb sat silent beside
+her, but his brow was clouded. When he spoke it was in a voice low and
+constrained.
+
+"Do you think it kind--wise to speak of this now?"
+
+"I was thinking that perhaps if he'd had a little luck----"
+
+"He might have come back to you?"
+
+Patricia turned toward him and with a swift movement took one of his
+hands in both of hers.
+
+"Don't speak in that way," she pleaded. "You mustn't."
+
+But his fingers still refused to respond to her pressure.
+
+"If I think of him at all, it is because I have learned how great a
+thing is love and how much the greater must be its loss. You know," she
+whispered, timidly, "you know I--I love you."
+
+"God bless you for that," he murmured.
+
+They were so absorbed that they did not hear the sound behind them--a
+suppressed moan like that of an animal in pain.
+
+"Will you forgive me?" asked the girl, at last. "It is all over now. I
+shall never speak of it again. I've spoiled your evening. You don't
+regret?"
+
+Crabb laughed happily.
+
+"I'll promise to be good," she said, softly. "I'll do whatever you ask
+me----"
+
+"Will you marry me next month?"
+
+"Yes," she murmured, "whenever you wish."
+
+He took her in his arms and kissed her. They stood for some time deaf to
+all voices but those in their hearts. There was a breaking of tiny twigs
+under the trees behind them and a drab figure came out into the open on
+the other side and vanished into the darkness by the garden wall. And as
+they walked back into the house neither guessed just what had happened
+except that some new miracle, which, really, is very old, had happened
+to them.
+
+As a matter of fact, when Patricia announced the miracle in the form
+of her engagement to Mortimer Crabb a prayer of thanksgiving went up
+from at least three young women of her acquaintance. And though these
+feminine petitioners were left as much to their own devices as before
+the announcement, there was a certain comfort in knowing that she was
+out of the way--at least, that she was as much out of the way as it was
+possible for Patricia to be, bound or untrammeled. Jack Masters went
+abroad, Steve Ventnor actually went to work, and various other swains
+sought pastures new.
+
+Ross Burnett was best man and, when the ceremony and breakfast were
+over, saw the happy couple off upon the _Blue Wing_, for their long
+Southern cruise. They offered him conduct as far as Washington, whither
+he was bound, but he knew from the look in their eyes that he was not
+wanted, and with a promise to meet them in New York when they returned,
+he waved them a good-by from the pier and took up the thread of his
+Government business where it had been dropped. It is not often that
+good comes out of villainy, and the memory of the adventure in which
+Crabb had involved him, often troubled his conscience. What if some day
+he should meet Baron Arnim or Baron Arnim's man and be recognized? At
+the State Department Crowthers had asked him no questions and he had
+thought it wise not to offer explanations. But certain it was that to
+that adventure alone was his present prosperity directly due. His South
+American mission successfully concluded, he had returned to Washington
+with the assurance that other and even more important work awaited him.
+His point of view had changed. All he had needed was initiative, and,
+Crabb having supplied that deficiency, he had learned to face the world
+again with the squared shoulders of the man who had at last found
+himself. The world was his oyster and he would open it how and when he
+liked.
+
+It was this new attitude perhaps which enabled him to take note of the
+taming of Mortimer Crabb, for when he visited the bride and groom in
+their sumptuous house in New York, he discovered that Crabb had formed
+the habit of the easy-chair after dinner, and that the married life,
+which all his days he had professed to abhor, was the life for him. It
+took the combined efforts of Burnett and Patricia to dislodge him.
+
+"He's absolutely impossible," said Patricia. "He says that he has solved
+the problem of happiness--that he has done with the world. It's so like
+a man," and she stamped her small foot, "to think that marriage is the
+end of everything when--as everyone knows--it's only the beginning. He's
+getting stout already, and I know, I'm positive that he is going to be
+bald. Won't you help me, Mr. Burnett?"
+
+"That's a dreadful prospect--Benedick, the married man. You only need
+carpet slippers and a cribbage-board, Mort, to make the picture
+complete. Have you stopped seeking opportunities?"
+
+"Ah, yes," drawled Crabb, "Patty is the only opportunity I ever had--at
+least--er--the only one worth embracing----"
+
+"Mortimer!"
+
+"And don't you ever go to the Club?" laughed Ross.
+
+"Oh, no. I'm taboo there since I lived in Philadelphia. Besides, I'm not
+a bachelor any more, you know. If Patty only wouldn't insist on dragging
+me out----"
+
+Patricia laughed.
+
+"Twice, Ross, already this winter," Crabb continued. "It's cruelty,
+nothing less." But the perpetrator of the outrage was smiling, and she
+leaned forward just then and laid her hand in that of her husband,
+saying with a laugh, "Mort, you know we'll have to get Ross married at
+once."
+
+"Me?" said Burnett, in alarm.
+
+"Of course. A bachelor only sneers at a Benedick when he has given up
+hoping----"
+
+"Oh, I say now--I'm not so old."
+
+"Then you do hope?"
+
+"Oh, no, I only wait--for a miracle."
+
+"This isn't the age of miracles," remarked Patty thoughtfully, "at least
+not miracles of that kind. How can you expect anyone to fall in love
+with you if you go on leaping from one end of the earth to the other. No
+girl wants to marry a kangaroo--even a diplomatic kangaroo." She paused
+and examined him with her head on one side. "And yet you know you're
+passably decent looking----"
+
+"Oh, thanks!"
+
+"Even distinguished--that foreign way of wearing your mustache is really
+quite fetching. You'll do, I think, with some coaching."
+
+"Will you coach me?"
+
+"I object," interrupted Crabb, lazily.
+
+"I will. You're quite worth marrying--I'm at least sure you wouldn't
+condemn your wife to her own lares and penates."
+
+"Not I. She'd get the wanderlust--or a divorce."
+
+"Don't boast, worse vagabonds than you have been tamed--come now, what
+shall she be--blonde or brunette?"
+
+Burnett shrugged his shoulders. "I'm quite indifferent--pigment is cheap
+nowadays."
+
+"Now you're scoffing."
+
+Ross Burnett leaned back in his chair and smiled at the chandelier.
+Women had long ago been omitted from his list of possibilities. But
+Patricia was not to be denied.
+
+"Married you shall be," she said with the air of an oracle, "and before
+the year is out. I swear it."
+
+"But why do you want me to----"
+
+"Revenge!" she said tragically. "You helped marry me to Mort."
+
+And the young matron was as good as her word, though her method may have
+been unusual.
+
+It came about in the following manner, and Burnett's brother and Miss
+Millicent Darrow were her unconscious agents. Miss Darrow had gone to
+the Academy Exhibit. The rooms were comfortably crowded. She entered
+conscious of a certain dignity and repose in the character of her
+surroundings. She brought forth her catalogue, resolutely opened it to
+the first page and in a moment was oblivious to the people about her.
+She did not belong to the great army "who know what they like." She had
+an instinctive perception of the good, and found herself not a little
+amazed at the amount of masterly work by younger men whose names she had
+never heard. It was an unpleasant commentary upon the mentality and
+taste of the set in which she moved, and she was conscious of a sense of
+guilt; for was she not a reflection of the shortcomings of those she was
+so ready to condemn? "The Plain--Evening--William Hazelton"--a direct
+rendering of an upland field at dusk, between portraits by well-known
+men; "Sylvia--Henry Marlow"--a girl in a green bodice painted with
+knowledge and assurance.
+
+In another room were the things in a higher key--she knew them at a
+glance; and on the opposite wall a full-length portrait that looked
+like a Sargent. She was puzzled at the color, which was different from
+that of any man she remembered. The Sargents she knew were grouped in
+another room--and yet there was here the force and breadth of the
+master. She experienced the same perplexity--"Agatha--Philip Burnett,"
+said the catalogue. She sank upon a bench before it and gave herself up
+to quiet rapture.
+
+"If I were a man," she said at last, "that is how I should wish to
+paint, the drawing of Sargent, the poetry of Whistler, the grace of
+Alexander, the color of Benson. Philip Burnett," she apostrophized,
+"I'm a Philistine. Forgive me."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+
+It was very pleasant under the subdued lights from above. She followed
+the sweep of the drapery with delighted eye, taking an almost sensuous
+pleasure in the relation of color and the grace of the arms and
+throat--the simplicity of the modeling and the admirable
+characterization.
+
+She found herself repeating:
+
+    "'And those that were good shall be happy,
+      They shall sit in a golden chair;
+    They shall splash at a ten-league canvas
+      With brushes of comet's hair.'
+
+"Philip Burnett, I wonder if you're good? You ought to be. I'd be good
+if I could paint like that. I'd work for an age at a sitting, too. How
+could one ever be tired making adagios in color? Oh!" she sighed, "how
+good it must be to amount to something!"
+
+A procession of agreeable, vacuous faces passed before the canvas,
+creatures of a common fate, garbed in the uniform of convention,
+carrying the polite weapons of Vanity Fair, each like the others and as
+uninteresting. The few who wore the bright chevrons of distinction had
+marched with the throng for a time, but had gone back to their own. She
+wondered if it would really matter if she never saw them again; of
+course, the women--but the men. Would she care?
+
+Was there not another life? It beckoned to her. What was Philip
+Burnett like? Could he be young and handsome as well as gifted? The
+vacuous faces vanished and in their place she could see this young
+genius--Antinous and Hercules combined--standing before this canvas
+living for the mere joy of work. Here was her answer. Was she to flit
+through enchanted gardens other people had planted, sipping only at the
+perfumed petals while the honey to be garnered was in plain sight?
+
+A voice broke in just beside her:
+
+"It's convincing, but I tell you, Burnett, the arm's too long."
+
+"Perhaps. Not bad, though, for a new man. You know we Burnetts are an
+exceptional race."
+
+The men moved away and the other's reply was lost in the murmur of the
+crowd. Miss Darrow turned to follow them with her eyes--what a big
+fellow he was! with an admirable profile, a straight nose, a waxed
+mustache, and a chin like the one on the mask of Brutus. Conceited, of
+course! All artists were conceited. And who was that with him--Mortimer
+Crabb? Yes, and there was the bride talking to the Pendergasts.
+
+"Why, Milly, dear!" Mrs. Pendergast passed an incurious but observant
+eye over her acquaintance. "I thought you were in Aiken. What a lovely
+hat! Are you going to the Inghams? What will you wear? Isn't it restful
+here?"
+
+Miss Darrow politely acquiesced and attempted replies, but her eyes
+strayed toward the Burnett portrait.
+
+"Stunning," continued Mrs. Pendergast. "A new man just over. Quite too
+clever. Wonderful color, isn't it? Like a ripe pomegranate."
+
+"Have you met him?"
+
+"No. He belongs to the Westchester Burnetts, though. Mrs. Hopkinson. So
+glad. Is Frederick here?"
+
+The agreeable lady had made of the portion of the galleries in the
+neighborhood of the Burnett portrait a semblance of her own busy
+drawing-room. Other acquaintances came up and Miss Darrow was soon lost
+in the maze of small talk. A broad pair of shoulders were thrust forward
+into her group, and Miss Darrow found herself looking into a pair of
+quizzical gray eyes which were beaming a rather frank admiration into
+hers. "Miss Darrow--Mr. Burnett," Patricia Crabb was saying; and
+Millicent Darrow was conscious that in a moment the new arrival had
+quietly and cleverly appropriated her and was taking her to the opposite
+side of the room where he found for her a Winslow Homer of rocks and
+stormy splendor.
+
+"Why is it," she asked, after her first enthusiasm, "that the work of
+the artist so seldom suggests its creator's personality?"
+
+"The perversity of the human animal," he laughed. "That's the system
+of justice of the great Republic of Art, Miss Darrow. If we lose a
+characteristic here, we gain it somewhere else. Rather a nice balance,
+don't you think?"
+
+"You hardly look the poet, Mr. Burnett--you don't mind my saying so?"
+she laughed. "And if you do dream, you do it with your eyes very wide
+open."
+
+Mr. Burnett's brows were tangled in bewilderment. "I'm really not much
+given to dreaming. I'm rather busy, you know."
+
+"It's splendid of you. You've worked long?"
+
+"Er--yes--since I left college," he said, the tangle in his brows
+suddenly unraveling. A smile now illuminated his rather whimsical eyes.
+Miss Darrow found herself laughing frankly into them.
+
+"Art is long--you must be at least--thirty."
+
+"Less," he corrected. "Youth is my compensation for not being a
+lawyer--or a broker."
+
+She was conscious of the personal note in their conversation, but she
+made no effort to avoid it. This genius of less than thirty gave every
+token of sanity and good fellowship.
+
+"Who is Agatha?" she asked suddenly.
+
+"A--er--a friend of mine in Paris."
+
+"Oh!" she said, in confusion.
+
+And then:
+
+"The face is of the East--the Slav--did you choose her for that
+character?"
+
+"Not at all. She was--er--just--just a sitter--a commission, you know."
+
+"How interesting!"
+
+They had made the rounds of the room and were now facing the portrait
+again.
+
+"It was lucky to have so good a model," he continued. "One doesn't
+always. Have you ever posed, Miss Darrow?"
+
+"I? No, never. Father has been trying to get me painted this winter.
+But I've been so busy--and then we're going South in two weeks--so we
+haven't been able to manage it."
+
+"What a pity!" The subtle sparkle had died in his eyes, which from the
+shadow of their heavy lashes were regarding hers intently.
+
+"You're very kind. Would you really like to paint me?" said Miss Darrow.
+"Suppose I said you should. I want my portrait done. If you make me half
+as wonderful as Agatha, I shall die happy. Won't you come in to-morrow
+at five? We can talk it over. I must be going now. No, not now,
+to-morrow. Au revoir." She gave him her hand with a friendly nod, and
+threaded her way through the crowd, leaving Burnett staring at the card
+she had left in his hand.
+
+On the way up-town in the machine Patricia examined him, smiling
+curiously.
+
+"What a delusion you are, Ross Burnett! Railing in one moment at
+matrimony and in the next, tagging around like a tame bear at the heels
+of the first pretty girl that crosses your path."
+
+"She _is_ pretty, isn't she?" he admitted, promptly.
+
+"And quite the rage--this is her third season you know. You seemed to be
+getting on very rapidly----"
+
+"Oh, it was all a mistake," Burnett laughed. "She thought I was an
+artist."
+
+"An artist? What in the world----"
+
+"I'm going to do her portrait----"
+
+"You!" Patricia leaned forward eagerly. "What do you mean?"
+
+"That I'm brother Philip--the chap that did the Agatha. She mistook me
+for him, and she was so nice about it that I didn't like to interfere."
+
+Crabb was lighting a cigarette.
+
+"I'm afraid, my dear Ross, that the East has sapped some of your moral
+fiber," he said.
+
+"It's perfectly delightful," laughed Patricia.
+
+"But Ross can't paint----"
+
+"I'd like to try," said Burnett.
+
+"Fiddlesticks!"
+
+Patricia said no more, but all the way home her face wore a smile which
+would not come off. The miracle had happened. Had she searched New York
+she could not have found a girl more eminently suited to Ross Burnett.
+That night Mortimer had some writing to do, but Patricia and her guest
+sat for a long while talking earnestly in the library. They didn't take
+Mortimer into their confidence, for Patricia had now gleefully donned
+the mantle her husband had so carelessly thrown aside. Here was an
+opportunity to make, and Patricia became the goddess in the machine.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+
+Several days passed. Ross Burnett moved about the studio adjusting a
+canvas upon an easel, bringing out draperies, raising and lowering
+curtains, and peering into drawers and chests in a manner which betrayed
+an uncertain state of mind. At last he seemed to find what he was
+looking for--a drapery of soft gray material. This he cast over the back
+of the easel, walked back from it to the far side of the room where he
+put his head on one side and looked with half-closed eyes.
+
+There was a clatter of the old French knocker. Burnett dropped his paint
+tubes and cigarette and opened the door.
+
+"Am I late?" laughed Miss Darrow.
+
+"You couldn't come too early," said Burnett. But he dubiously eyed the
+French maid who had entered bearing a huge portmanteau.
+
+"I was so afraid to keep you waiting. You're not very angry?"
+
+"I'm sure I've been here since dawn," he replied.
+
+"Then let's not waste any time. Oh, isn't it charming! Where shall I
+go?"
+
+He pushed open the door of the dressing room.
+
+"I think you'll find the mirror fair," he said. "If there's
+anything----"
+
+"How exciting! No. And I'll be out in a jiffy."
+
+When the door was closed Burnett eyed the model-throne, the draperies,
+the chair, and the canvas, seeking a last inspiration before the
+imminent moment. He put a Japanese screen behind the chair and threw a
+scarlet drapery over one end of it, knocking at the rebellious folds to
+make them fall as he wished.
+
+"Will I do?" asked the girl, radiantly emerging. She wore a black
+evening dress. The maid had thrown a filmy drapery over her which
+brought out the dull whiteness of the shoulders. "It is so different in
+the daytime," she said, coloring; "but father has always wanted it so.
+You know I haven't told him. It's to be a surprise."
+
+Burnett's color responded to hers. He bowed his head. "You are charming,"
+he murmured gallantly with a seriousness she could not fail to notice.
+
+When Julie was dismissed to return at luncheon-time, Mr. Burnett
+conducted Miss Darrow to her throne and took his place before the
+canvas. She stood leaning easily upon the back of the chair, the lines
+of her slender figure sweeping down from the radiant head and shoulders
+into the dusky shadows behind her. She watched him curiously as he stood
+away from the easel to study the pose.
+
+"If I only could--it's splendid so," he was murmuring, "but I wish you
+to sit."
+
+She acquiesced without question. "I feel like a specimen," she sighed.
+"It's a terrible ordeal. I'm all arms and hands. _Must_ you squint?"
+
+In Burnett's laugh all restraint was liberated to the winds.
+
+"Of course. All artists squint. It's like the circular sweep of the
+thumb--a symbol of the craft."
+
+He walked behind her and adjusted the screen, taking away the crimson
+drapery and putting a greyish-green one in its place.
+
+"There," he cried, "just as you are. It's stunning."
+
+She was leaning forward with an elbow on the chair arm, her hands
+clasped, one slender wrist at her chin.
+
+"Really! You're awfully easy to please--I wonder if I shall do as well
+as Agatha."
+
+He took up a charcoal--looked at its end, and made a slight adjustment
+of the easel. "Before we begin--there's one thing I forgot." He paused.
+"All painters are sensitive, you know. I'm rather queerer than most. I
+hope you won't care." The charcoal was now making rapid gyrations upon
+the surface of the canvas. "I'm awfully sensitive to criticism--in
+the early stages. I usually manage to pull out somehow--but in the
+beginning--when I'm drawing, laying in the figure--I don't like my
+canvas seen. Sometimes it lasts even longer. You won't mind not looking,
+will you?"
+
+"I see. That's what the grey thing is for. I don't mind in the least;
+only I hope it will come soon. I'm wild to see. And please smoke. I know
+you want to."
+
+The grateful Burnett drew forth his cigarette-case and while his model
+rested busied himself among his tubes of paint, squeezing the colors out
+upon the palette.
+
+"If you only knew," he sighed, "how very difficult it seems." But the
+large brush dipped into the paint and Burnett worked vigorously, a fine
+light glowing in his eyes. Miss Darrow watched the generous flow from
+the oil cup mingling with the colors.
+
+"What a lot of vermilion you use!"
+
+[Illustration: "'What a lot of vermilion you use.'"]
+
+"Hair," he replied. He seemed so absorbed that she said no more, and she
+didn't know whether to laugh or frown. Later she ventured:
+
+"If it's carroty I'll never speak to you again. Please make it auburn,
+Mr. Burnett."
+
+He only worked the more rapidly. He seemed to be dipping into every
+color upon the palette, in the center of which had grown a brown of the
+color of walnut-juice. This he was applying vigorously to the lower part
+of the canvas. When the palette was cleared he put it aside and sank
+back in a chair with a sigh.
+
+"Rest," said the artist.
+
+"I'm not in the least tired," she replied.
+
+"But _I_ am. It takes it out of me to be so interested."
+
+"Does it?" She leaned back in her chair, regarding him with a new
+curiosity. "Do you know," she added, "you are full of surprises----"
+
+She ignored the inquiry of his upraised brows.
+
+"----and paint," she finished with a laugh.
+
+He ruefully eyed a discolored thumb. "I'm awfully untidy, I know. I've
+always been. In Paris they called me Slovenly Peter."
+
+"I shouldn't say that--only----"
+
+"What?"
+
+"Only----" she indicated several streaks of black on his grey
+walking-suit. "Must one always pay such a price to inspiration?"
+
+"Jove! That _was_ stupid. I always do, though, Miss Darrow." He examined
+the spots and touched them with the tips of his fingers. "It's paint,"
+he finished, examining it with a placidity almost impersonal. "It
+doesn't matter in the least."
+
+"And do you always smudge your face?" she asked sweetly. He looked at
+himself in the mirror. There was a broad streak of red across his
+forehead. He wiped it off with a handkerchief.
+
+"Oh, please don't laugh."
+
+He sank upon the edge of the throne, and then they both laughed
+joyously, naturally, like two children.
+
+"I'm an awfully lucky fellow," he said, at last. "I feel like a feudal
+baron with a captured princess. Here are you, that most inaccessible of
+persons, the Woman of Society, doomed every morning for two weeks to
+play Darby and Joan with a man you've known only three days. How on
+earth can a fellow survive seeing a girl he likes behind cups of tea!
+It's rough, I think. Society seems to accomplish every purpose but its
+avowed one. Instead of which everybody plays puss-in-the-corner. A
+fellow might have a chance if the corners weren't so far apart. And
+I, just back from abroad with all the skeins of old friendship at a
+loose end, walk into your circle and quietly appropriate you for a
+fortnight--while your other friends go a-begging."
+
+"They haven't begged very hard," she laughed. "If they had, perhaps they
+might be playing Darby and Joan, too. I've never tried it before. But I
+think it's rather nice----" She broke off suddenly.
+
+"Do you know, I've rested _quite_ twenty minutes," she said after a
+moment. "Come, time is precious."
+
+"That depends----"
+
+She waited a moment for him to finish, but he said no more.
+
+"How extraordinary!" she said with a pretty _moue_. "I don't know whether
+I should be pleased or not."
+
+"Can you blame me? The Forelock of Time hangs too temptingly," he
+laughed. "Of course, if you'd rather pose----" He took up his dripping
+brushes with a sigh.
+
+"Oh, indeed, I don't care," she sank back in the chair. "Only don't you
+think--isn't that really what I'm here for?"
+
+"It is time to pose, Miss Darrow," he said determinately.
+
+But she made no move to get into the position.
+
+"I haven't complained," and she smiled at him. "Your muse is difficult,
+and I'm the gainer. Really, I think I'd rather talk."
+
+"And I'm waiting to go on with the portrait."
+
+"I'll pose again on one condition----"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"That you put on overalls."
+
+The brushes and palette dropped to his side. "That's rough on Slovenly
+Peter," he laughed. He set about squeezing the paint tubes, wiping the
+brush handles and edge of the palette. When the pose was over Julie
+appeared. The artist drew the grey drapery over the easel and helped
+Miss Darrow to descend.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+
+These mornings in the studio were full of subtleties. Miss Darrow
+discovered that Burnett could talk upon many subjects. He had traveled
+much in Europe, and could even draw a bold outline for her of the East,
+which she had never seen. He talked little of art, and then only when
+the subject was introduced by his model. In the rests, which were long,
+he led Miss Darrow, often without her being aware of it, down pleasant
+lanes of thought, all of which seemed to end abruptly in the garish
+sunshine of personality. She did not find it unpleasant; only it seemed
+rather surprising the way all formality between them had been banished.
+
+One morning there was a diversion. A clatter on the knocker and Burnett,
+frowning, went to the door. Miss Darrow heard a feminine voice and an
+exclamation. Burnett went rather hurriedly and stood outside, his hand
+upon the door knob. There was a murmur of conversation and a feminine
+laugh. She tried not to hear what was said. The hand fidgeted on the
+knob, but the murmur of voices continued. Miss Darrow got down from the
+throne and moved to the window, adjusting a stray curl as she passed.
+
+She looked away from the mirror, then stopped suddenly and looked again.
+When Burnett entered she was sitting in the window-seat, looking out
+over the roof-tops. He was profuse in apology. She resumed the pose and
+the artist painted silently. "They say there's a pleasure in painting
+that only a painter knows," she began.
+
+"Of course."
+
+"Then why do we rest so often? I'm not easily deceived. The fine frenzy
+is lacking, Mr. Burnett--isn't it so?"
+
+For reply he held out his paint-smudged hands.
+
+"No--no," she went on. "You're painting timidly with the tips of your
+fingers--not in the least like the 'Agatha.' I'm sure you're doing me
+early-Victorian."
+
+Burnett stopped painting, looked at his canvas and laughed. "Oh, it's
+hardly that," he said.
+
+"Won't you prove it?"
+
+"How?"
+
+"By letting me look." She rose from her chair, got down from the throne
+and took a rapid step or two towards the easel. But Burnett's broad
+shoulders barred the way.
+
+"Please," she urged.
+
+"I can't, really."
+
+"Why not?" She stood her ground firmly, looking up into his face, but
+Burnett did not move or reply.
+
+She settled into the pose again and Burnett went mechanically to
+his place before the canvas. Once it seemed as if he were about to
+speak--but he thought better of it. He looked down at the mass of color
+mingled on the palette. His brush moved slowly on the canvas. At last
+it stopped and dropped to his side.
+
+"I can't go on."
+
+She dropped out of the pose. "Are you ill?"
+
+"Oh, no," he laughed. With the setting aside of the brushes and palette,
+Burnett seemed to put away the shadow that had been hanging over his
+thoughts all the morning. He stood beside her and was looking frankly
+into her eyes. She saw something in his that had not been there before,
+for she looked away, past the chimneys and apartment houses, past the
+clouds, and into the void that was beyond the blue. She had forgotten
+his presence, and one of her hands which he held in both of his.
+
+"Perhaps you understand," he said quietly. "Perhaps you know."
+
+The fingers moved slightly, but on the brows a tiny frown was gathering.
+He relinquished her hand with a sigh and stood looking rather helplessly
+in the direction of the mute and pitiless easel. They were so deep in
+thought that neither of them heard the turning of a skeleton key in the
+latch and the opening of the door. The Japanese screen for a moment
+concealed them from the view of a gentleman who emerged into the
+room. Ross Burnett looked up helplessly. It was Mortimer Crabb,
+horror-stricken at this violation of his sanctum.
+
+"Ross!" he said, "what on earth----"
+
+Miss Darrow started from her chair, the crimson rushing to her cheeks,
+and stood drawing the lace across her shoulders.
+
+Burnett was cool. "Miss Darrow," he asked, "you know Mr. Crabb? He's
+studying painting, and--er--sometimes uses this place. Perhaps----"
+
+The words hung on his lips as he realized that Miss Darrow with an
+inclination of the head toward the visitor, had vanished into the
+dressing-room.
+
+As the door closed words less polite came forth.
+
+But Crabb broke in: "Oh, I say, Ross, you don't mean you've had the
+nerve----"
+
+Ross Burnett's brows drew together and his large frame seemed to grow
+compact.
+
+"Hush, Mort," he whispered. "You don't understand. You've made an awful
+mess of things. Won't you go?"
+
+"But, my dear chap----"
+
+"I'll explain later. But go--please!"
+
+With a glance toward the easel Mortimer Crabb went out.
+
+Ross Burnett closed the door, shot its bolt and put his back against it.
+As the clatter of Crabb's boots on the wooden stairs died away on the
+lower floor, he gave a sigh, folded his arms and waited.
+
+When Miss Darrow emerged from the dressing-room ready for the street,
+she found him there.
+
+"My things are in the portmanteau," she said, icily. "My maid will call
+for them. If you will permit me----"
+
+But Burnett did not move.
+
+"Miss Darrow----" he began.
+
+"Will you let me pass?"
+
+"I can't, Miss Darrow--until you hear. I wouldn't have had it happen for
+anything in the world."
+
+"I cannot listen. Won't you open the door?"
+
+He bowed his head as though better to receive her reproaches, but he did
+not move.
+
+"Oh!" she cried, "how could you!" Her chin was raised, and she glanced
+scornfully at him from under her narrowed lids.
+
+"Please," he pleaded, quietly. "If you'll only listen----"
+
+She turned and walked towards the window. "Isn't it punishment enough
+for it all to end like this," he went on, "without making it seem as
+though I were worse than I am? Really, I'm not as bad as I'm painted."
+
+It was an unfortunate phrase. An awkward silence followed it, in which
+he was conscious that Miss Darrow had turned suddenly from the window
+and was facing the Thing upon the easel, which was now revealed to them
+both in all its uncompromising ugliness. From the center of a myriad of
+streaks of paint something emerged. Something in dull tones, staring
+like a Gorgon from its muddy illusiveness. To Burnett it had been only a
+canvas daubed with infelicitous paint. Now from across the room it
+seemed to have put on a smug and scurrilous personality and odiously
+leered at him from its unlovely background.
+
+"Don't," cried Burnett. "Don't look at the thing like that."
+
+But the girl did not move. She stood before the easel, her head a little
+on one side, her eyes upon the canvas.
+
+"It's really not Victorian, is it?" she asked calmly.
+
+"You _must_ listen!" cried Burnett, leaving his post at the door. "I
+insist. You know why I did this mad thing. I've told you. I'd do it
+again----"
+
+"I've no doubt you will," she put in scornfully. "It doesn't seem to
+have been so difficult."
+
+"It was. The hardest thing I've ever done in my life. You gave me the
+chance. I took it. I won't regret it. It was selfish--brutal--anything
+you like. But I don't regret--nine wonderful mornings, twenty-seven
+precious hours--more, I hope, than you've given any man in your life."
+He made one rapid stride and took her in his arms. "I love you,
+Millicent, dear. I've loved you from the first moment--there in the
+picture gallery. Yes, I'd do it again. Every moment I've blessed the
+luck that made it possible. Don't turn away from me. You don't hate me.
+I know it. You couldn't help feeling a response to a love like mine." He
+held her close to him, raising her head at last until her lips were
+level with his own. But he did not touch them. She still struggled
+faintly, but she would not open her eyes and look at him.
+
+"No, no, you mustn't," was all that she found strength to say.
+
+"You can't deny it. You do--care for me. Look up at me and tell me so."
+
+She would not look at him and at last struggled away and stood, her
+cheeks flaming.
+
+"You are masterful!" she stammered. "A girl is not to be won in this
+fashion."
+
+"I love you," he said. "And you----"
+
+"I despise you," she gasped. She turned to the mirror, and rearranged
+her disordered hair.
+
+"Don't say that. Won't you forgive me?"
+
+She sank on the model stand and buried her face in her hands. "It was
+cruel of you--cruel."
+
+The sight of her distress unnerved him and gave him for the first time a
+new view of the enormity of his offense. It was her pride that was
+wounded. It was the thought of what Mortimer Crabb might think of her
+that had wrought the damage. He bent over her, his fingers nearly
+touching her, yet restrained by a delicacy and a new tenderness
+begotten by the thought that it was he alone who had caused her
+unhappiness.
+
+"Forgive me," he whispered. "I'm sorry."
+
+And she only repeated. "What can he think of me? What can he think?"
+
+Burnett straightened, a new thought coming to him. It seemed like an
+inspiration--a stroke of genius.
+
+"Of course," he said, calmly, "you're hopelessly compromised. He must
+think what he pleases. There's only one thing to do."
+
+She arose and breathlessly asked, "What _can_ I do? How can I----"
+
+"Marry me--at once."
+
+"Oh!"
+
+She spoke the word slowly--wonderingly--as if the idea had never occurred
+to her before. He had left the way to the door unguarded, but instead she
+walked toward the window, and looked out over the roof-tops. To Burnett
+the silence was burdened with meaning, and he broke it timorously.
+
+"Won't you--won't you, Millicent, dear?"
+
+Her voice trembled a little when she replied: "There is one thing more
+important than that--than anything else in the world to me."
+
+At her side his eyes questioned mutely.
+
+"And that?" he asked at last.
+
+"My reputation," she whispered.
+
+He stood a second studying her face, for his happiness grew upon him
+slowly. But behind the crooked smile which was half-hidden from him, he
+caught the dawn of a new light that he understood. He took her in his
+arms then, and wondered how it was that he had not kissed her when her
+lips had been so close before. But the new wonder that came to them both
+made them willing to forget that there had ever been anything else
+before.
+
+Later, Ross, unable to credit his good fortune and marveling at the
+intricacies of the feminine mind, asked her a question. Her reply caused
+him more amazement:
+
+"Poor, foolish, Slovenly Peter! I saw it by accident in the mirror a
+week ago."
+
+So it was Mortimer Crabb after all who made the opportunity; for Miss
+Darrow smilingly admitted that had it not been for his abrupt entrance
+at that precise psychological moment, she should now have been in Aiken
+and Ross on the way to the Antipodes. But Patricia was doubly happy; for
+had she not circumvented her own husband in opening the studio he had
+forsworn, the veritable chamber of Bluebeard which had been bolted
+against her? Had she not browsed away among the gods of his youth to her
+heart's content and made that sacred apartment the vestibule of Paradise
+for at least two discontented mortals whose hearts were now beating as
+one?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+
+After this first success, Patricia was filled with the spirit of
+altruism, and winter and summer went out upon the highways and byways
+seeking the raw material for her fateful loom. She was Puck, Portia and
+Patricia all rolled into one. There were Stephen Ventnor and Jack
+Masters, whom she still saw occasionally, but they only sighed and even
+refused to dine at the Castle of Enchantment. She thought sometimes of
+Heywood Pennington, too, and often found herself wondering how the world
+was faring with him, hoping that some day chance would throw him in her
+way. The old romance was dead, of course. But what an opportunity for
+regeneration!
+
+Meantime she had much to do in keeping up her establishment, many
+friends to make in New York, many social duties to perform. She spent
+much time with her husband over the plans of the country place he was
+building on Long Island, which was to be ready for occupancy late in the
+following spring. Mortimer Crabb had formed a habit of going down town
+for a part of every day at least, and if he really did no work he
+created an impression of stability which was rather surprising to those
+who had known him longest. The Crabbs were desirable acquaintances in
+the married set, and before two years had passed, Patricia made for
+herself an enviable reputation as a hostess and dinner guest, to say
+nothing of that of a model wife. Not a cloud larger than a speck had
+risen upon the matrimonial horizon and their little bark sailed steadily
+forward propelled by the mildest of breezes upon an ocean that was all
+made up of ripples and sunshine. Mortimer Crabb loved abundantly, and
+Patricia was contented to watch him worship, while she shaped the course
+to her liking.
+
+There were still times, however, when she sat and watched the flames of
+the library fire while she stirred up the embers of romance. Few women
+who have been adored as Patricia had been are willing too abruptly to
+shut the door upon the memory of the might-have-beens. The coquette in
+her was dying hard--as it sometimes does in childless women. She still
+liked the attentions to which she had been accustomed, and her husband
+saw that she was constantly amused--provided with clever men from his
+clubs as dance partners for the Philadelphia girls who visited them.
+Stephen Ventnor, who was selling bonds down-town, had been persuaded at
+last to forget his troubles and now came frequently to dinner. There was
+nothing Patricia wanted, it seemed, except something to want.
+
+One day, quite by chance, she met another one of the might-have-beens
+upon the street. She did not know him at first, for he now wore a small
+moustache and the years had not passed as lightly over his head as they
+had over hers. She felt her way barred by a tall figure, and before she
+knew it, was shaking hands with Heywood Pennington.
+
+"Patty," he was saying, "don't you know me? Does four years make such a
+difference?" A warm tint rose and spread unbidden from Patricia's neck
+to temples. It angered her that she could not control it, but she smiled
+at him and said that she was glad to see him.
+
+Together they walked up the Avenue, and, as they went, she questioned
+and he told her his story. No recriminations passed. He made it plain to
+her that he was too glad to see her for that. He was in business, he
+said vaguely, and in the future was to make New York his home. So, when
+she took leave of him, Patricia asked the prodigal to call. It will be
+apparent to anyone that there was nothing else to do.
+
+Mortimer Crabb received the information at the dinner table that night
+with a changeless expression.
+
+"I'm sure if you want Mr. Pennington here, he'll be welcome," he said
+with a slow smile. "He's a very, very old friend of yours, isn't he,
+Patty?"
+
+"Oh, yes--since school days," she said, quietly. And she blushed again,
+but if Crabb noticed, it was not apparent, for he immediately busied
+himself with his soup.
+
+"He used to be such a nice boy," said Patricia. "But I'm afraid he got
+pretty wild and----"
+
+"Yes," put in her husband, a little dryly. "I've heard something about
+him."
+
+She glanced at him quickly, but he did not look up and she went on:
+
+"I thought it would be nice if we could do a little something for him,
+give him a lift, introduce him to some influential people----"
+
+"Make an opportunity for him, in short," said Crabb.
+
+"Er--yes. He has had a pretty hard time, I think."
+
+"I shouldn't be surprised," said Crabb, "most people do."
+
+Patricia foresaw an opportunity such as she had never had before, and a
+hundred plans at once flashed into her pretty head for the prodigal's
+regeneration. First, of course, she must kill the fatted calf, and she
+therefore planned at once a dinner party, at which Mr. Pennington should
+meet some of her intimate friends, Dicky Bowles and his wife, the
+Burnetts, who were on from Washington, the Charlie Chisolms and her
+sister Penelope. For reasons of her own Stephen Ventnor was not invited.
+
+Patricia presided skilfully with an air of matronly benevolence not to be
+denied and dextrously diverted the conversation into channels strictly
+impersonal. So that after dinner, while Charlie Chisolm was still talking
+rifle-bores with Mortimer, Patricia and Heywood Pennington went into the
+conservatory to see the new orchids.
+
+That was the first of many dinners. Patricia invited all the eligible
+girls of her acquaintance, one after another, and sat them next to Mr.
+Pennington in an apparent endeavor to supply the deficiency she had
+caused in that gentleman's affections. But new orchids came continually
+to the conservatory, and Patricia was not loath to show them. Then
+followed rides in the motor car when Crabb was down-town, and shopping
+expeditions when Crabb was at the club, for which Patricia chose Heywood
+Pennington as her escort, and whatever Mortimer Crabb thought of it all,
+he said little and looked less.
+
+But if her husband had been willing to worship blindly before he and
+Patricia had been engaged, marriage had cleared away some of the nebulae.
+He had learned to look upon his wife as a dear, capricious being, and
+with the abounding faith and confidence of amply proportioned men he
+was willing to believe that Patricia, like Caesar's wife, was above
+suspicion. He was quite sure that she was foolish. But Patty's little
+finger foolish was more important to Mortimer than a whole Minerva.
+
+Mr. Pennington's ways were not Crabb's ways, however, and the husband
+learned one day, quite by chance, of an incident that had happened in
+New York which confirmed a previous impression. He went home a little
+sombre, for that very night Mr. Pennington was to dine again at his
+house.
+
+After dinner Patricia and Pennington vanished as usual into the
+conservatory and were seen no more until it was time for Patricia's
+guests to go. The husband lingered moodily by the fire after the door
+had closed upon the last one, who happened to be the might-have-been.
+
+"Patty," he began, "don't you think it a little--er--inhospitable----"
+
+"Oh, Mort," Patricia broke in, "don't be tiresome."
+
+But Mortimer Crabb had taken out his watch and was examining it with a
+judicial air.
+
+"Do you know," he said, calmly, "that you've been out there since ten? I
+don't think it's quite decent."
+
+It was the first time her husband had used exactly this tone, and
+Patricia looked at him curiously, then pouted and laughed.
+
+"Jealous!" she laughed, and blowing him a kiss flew upstairs, leaving
+her husband still looking into the fire. But he did not smile as he
+usually did when this was her mood, and in her last backward glance
+Patricia did not fail to notice it. Instead of following her, Mortimer
+Crabb lit a cigar and went over to his study. Perhaps he should have
+spoken more severely to Patricia before this. He had been on the point
+of it a dozen times. Gossip had dealt with Pennington none too kindly,
+but Crabb didn't believe in gossip and he did believe in his wife.
+
+He finished his cigar and then lit another while he tried to think the
+matter out, until, at last, Patricia, a pretty vision in braids and
+lace, came pattering down. He heard the footfalls and felt the soft
+hands upon his shoulders, but did not turn his head. He knew what was to
+come and had not the humor or the art to compromise. Patricia, with
+quick divination, took her hands away and went around by the fire where
+she could look at her husband.
+
+"Well," she said, half defiantly. Crabb replied without raising his eyes
+from the fire.
+
+"Patty," he said quietly, "you mustn't ask Mr. Pennington to the house."
+Patricia looked at him as though she had not heard aright. But she did
+not speak.
+
+"You must know," he went on, "that I've been thinking about you and Mr.
+Pennington for some time, but I haven't spoken so plainly before. You
+mustn't be seen with Mr. Pennington again."
+
+He rose and knocked his cigar ashes into the chimney and then turned to
+face his wife. Patricia's foot was tapping rapidly upon the fender while
+her figure presented the picture of injured dignity.
+
+"It is preposterous--impossible," she gasped. "I'm going to ride with
+him to-morrow afternoon."
+
+And then after a pause in which she eagerly scanned her husband's face,
+she broke forth into a nervous laugh: "Upon my word, Mort, I believe you
+_are_ jealous."
+
+"Perhaps I am," said Crabb, slowly, "but I'm in earnest, too. Do what I
+ask, Patricia. Don't ride to-morrow----"
+
+"And if I should refuse----"
+
+Crabb shrugged his broad shoulders and turned away.
+
+"It would be too bad," he said, "that's all."
+
+"But how can you do such a thing," she cried, "without a reason--without
+any excuse? Why, Heywood has been here every day for----" and then broke
+off in confusion.
+
+Crabb smiled rather grimly, but he generously passed the opportunity by.
+
+"Every reason that I wish--every excuse that I need. Isn't that enough?"
+
+"No, it isn't--I refuse to believe anything about him." Crabb looked at
+his wife sombrely.
+
+"Then we'd better say no more. Your attitude makes it impossible for me
+to argue the question. Good-night." He opened the door and stood waiting
+for her to go out. She hesitated a moment and then swept by him, her
+very ruffles breathing rebellion.
+
+The next morning he kissed her good-bye when she was reading her mail.
+
+"You'll write him, Patty, won't you?" he said, as he went out.
+
+"Yes--yes," she answered, quickly, "I will--I'll write him."
+
+Patricia did write to him. But it was not at all the sort of a letter
+that Crabb would have cared to see.
+
+     Dear Heywood [it ran], something has happened, so can't ride
+     to-day. Meet me near the arch in Washington Square at three.
+     Until then--
+                              As ever,
+                                       P.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+
+Patricia awoke rudely and with an appalling sense that she had made a
+shocking fool of herself. Heywood Pennington suddenly vanished out of
+her life as completely as though Fifth Avenue had opened and swallowed
+him. Very suddenly he had left New York, they said. And upon her
+breakfast tray one morning Patricia found the following in a handwriting
+unfamiliar and evidently disguised:
+
+                              March 12, 19--
+
+     Mrs. Mortimer Crabb,
+
+     Dear Madam:
+
+     I have in my possession twenty-one letters and notes written by
+     you to Mr. Heywood Pennington, formerly of Philadelphia. Kindly
+     acknowledge receipt of this communication and bring to this
+     office, in person, on Wednesday of next week, five thousand
+     dollars in cash or the letters will be mailed to Mr. Crabb.
+
+                              (Signed) JOHN DOE,
+                              Care of Fairman and Brooke,
+                              No. ---- Liberty Street.
+
+There in her fingers it flaunted its brutality. What could it mean? Her
+letters? To Heywood Pennington? Why--they were only notes--harmless
+little records of their friendship. What had she said? How had this
+odious Doe----?
+
+It was a week since she had seen the prodigal. They had quarreled some
+days ago, for Mr. Pennington's lazy humor had turned to a reckless
+unconvention which had somewhat startled her. Her secret declaration of
+independence had led her a little out of her depth, and she began to
+feel more and more like the child with the jam-pot--only the jam-pot
+was out of all proportion to real jam-pots and the smears seemed to
+defy the most generous use of soap and water. This horrible Doe was the
+neighbor's boy who told, and Mortimer Crabb was suddenly invested with
+a newly-born parental dignity and wisdom. Mort! It made her shudder to
+think of her husband receiving those letters. She knew him so well
+and yet she knew him so little. She felt tempted to throw all else
+to the winds and make a full confession--of what? of a childish
+ingenuousness--which confession would magnify a hundred-fold. What had
+she to confess? Meetings in the Park? Her face burned with shame. It
+would have seemed less childish if her face had burned with shame at
+things a little more tangible. Lunches in out-of-the-way restaurants,
+innocent enough in themselves, whose only pleasure was the knowledge
+that she took them unpermitted. She knew that she deserved to be stood
+in the corner or be sent to bed without her supper, but she quailed at
+the thought of meeting her husband's eye. She knew that he could make it
+singularly cold and uncompromising.
+
+And the letters. Why hadn't Heywood burned them? And yet why should
+he have? Pennington's ideas of a compromising position she realized,
+with some bitterness, differed somewhat from hers. And she knew she
+_couldn't_ have written anything to regret. She tried to think, and a
+phrase here and there recurred to her. Perhaps Mort might know her well
+enough to guess how little they meant--but perhaps he didn't. Words
+written to another were so desperately easy to misunderstand.
+
+How could these letters have fallen into the hands of a stranger? The
+more she thought of it the more impenetrable became the mystery. How
+could this villainous Doe have guessed her identity? A few of these
+letters were signed merely "Patty," but most of them were not signed at
+all. It was dreadful to be insulted with no redress at any hand. Five
+thousand dollars! The very insignificance of the figures made her
+position worse. Was this the value of her reputation? Truly her
+fortunes had sunk to their lowest ebb. She tried to picture John Doe,
+a small ferret of a man with heavy eyes, red hair, and a rumpled
+shirt-front, sitting in a dingy office up three flights of stairs,
+fingering her little scented notes with his soiled fingers. Oh, it was
+horrible--horrible! Yet how could she escape? Would she not tarnish her
+soul still more by paying the wretched money--Mort's money--in forfeit of
+her disobedience to him? Every instinct revolted at the thought. Wouldn't
+it be better after all to throw herself upon Mort's mercy? She knew now
+how much bigger and better he was than anything else in the world.
+She loved him now. She knew it. There wouldn't ever be any more
+might-have-beens. She longed to feel his protecting arms about her and
+hear his quiet steady voice in her ears, even though it was to scold her
+for the mere child that she was. His arms seemed the greater sanctuary
+now--now that she was not sure that they ever could be opened to her.
+Still clasping the letter she buried her face in the pillows of her couch
+and wept. That night she sent down word that she had a headache, but a
+night's rest did wonders. A cheerful, smiling person descended on Crabb
+in the midst of his morning coffee.
+
+"What! Patty! At the breakfast table? Will the wonders never cease?"
+
+"I didn't come to breakfast, Mort. I wanted to see you before you went
+out."
+
+Crabb smiled over the top of his coffee cup.
+
+"What is it, Patty? A hat bill or an opera cloak? I'm prepared. Tell me
+the awful worst."
+
+"Don't, Mort--please. I can't bear you facetious. It's--er--about Madame
+Jacquard's bill and some others. They've gotten a little large and
+she--she wants me to help her out to-day--if I can--if you can--and I
+told her I would----"
+
+Crabb was wrapped in contemplation of his muffin. But he allowed his
+wife to struggle through to the end. Then he looked up a little
+seriously from under heavy brows.
+
+"Um--er--how much, Patty? A thousand? I think it can be managed----"
+
+"No, Mort," she interrupted, tremulously, "you see I have had to get so
+many things of late--we've been going out a great deal you know--a lot
+of other things you wouldn't understand."
+
+"Oh! Perhaps I might."
+
+"No--I--I'm afraid I've been rather extravagant this winter. I didn't
+tell you but I--I've used up my allowance long--ever so long ago."
+
+Mortimer Crabb's brows were now really menacing.
+
+"It seems to me----" he began. But she interrupted him at once.
+
+"I know I ought to be called a beggar on horseback, because I really
+have ridden rather--rather fast this winter----"
+
+"Two thousand?" he questioned.
+
+"No, Mort, you see, it isn't only the dresses and the hats. I'm afraid
+I've been losing more than I should have lost at auction."
+
+"Bridge!" he said, pitilessly, "I thought----"
+
+"Yes--bub--bridge."
+
+"I thought my warning might be sufficient. I'm sorry----"
+
+"So am I," she whispered, her head lowered, now thoroughly abased. "I am
+not going to play any more."
+
+"How much--three thousand?" he asked again.
+
+"No," she said, desperately, "more. I'm afraid it will take five
+thousand dollars to pay everything."
+
+"Phew!" he whistled. "How in the name of all that's expensive----"
+
+"Oh, I don't know----" helplessly, "money adds up so fast--I suppose
+that father might help me if you can't--but I didn't want to ask him if
+I could help it; you know he----"
+
+"Oh, no," said Crabb, with a sudden move of the hand. "It can be
+managed, of course, but I admit I'm surprised--very much surprised that
+you haven't thought fit to take me closer into your confidence."
+
+"I'm sorry, Mort," she muttered, humbly. "It won't happen again."
+
+Crabb pushed back his chair and rose. "Oh, well, don't say anything more
+about it, Patty. It must be attended to, of course. Just give me a list
+of the items and I'll send out the checks."
+
+"But, Mort, I'd like to----"
+
+"I'll just stop in at Madame Jacquard's on the way uptown and----"
+
+Patty started up and then sank back weakly.
+
+"Oh, Mort, dear," she faltered, "it isn't worth while. It would be so
+much out of your way----"
+
+"Not a bit," said Crabb, striding cheerfully to the door. "It's only a
+step from the subway, and then I can come on up the Avenue----"
+
+But Patricia by this time had fastened tightly upon the lapels of his
+coat, and was looking half tearfully up into his face.
+
+"I--I want to see Madame about some things she hasn't sent up yet--I
+must go there to-day. I'll--I'll tell her, Mort, and then if you'll
+arrange it, I'll just send it to her to-morrow."
+
+Mortimer Crabb looked into the blue eyes that she raised to his and
+relented.
+
+"All right," he said, "you shall have your own way." And then, with the
+suspicion of a smile, "Shall I make a check to your order?"
+
+"To--to mine, Mort--it always makes me feel more important to pay my
+bills myself--and besides--the bub--bridge, you know."
+
+When Patricia heard the front door shut behind her husband, she gave a
+great sigh and sank on the divan in a state of utter collapse.
+
+The next day Patricia dressed herself in a plain, dark skirt, a long
+grey coat and wore two heavy veils over an unobtrusive sailor hat. In
+her hand she clutched a small hand satchel containing the precious check
+and the odious letter of John Doe. First she went to the bank and
+converted the check into crisp thousand dollar notes. Then walking
+rapidly she took the elevated for that unknown region which men call
+down-town. There was little difficulty in finding the place. The narrow
+doorway she had imagined was wide--even imposing, and an Irish janitor
+with a cheerful countenance, was sweeping the pavement and whistling. It
+was not in the least Dickens-ish, or Machiavellian. The atmosphere was
+that of a very cheerful and modern New York and Patricia's spirits
+revived. A cleanly boy in buttons ran the elevator.
+
+But as the elevator shot up, Patty's heart shot down. She had hoped
+there would be stairs to climb. The imminence of the visit filled her
+with alarm, and before she realized it, she was deposited--a bundle of
+quivering nerves, before the very door. Gathering her shattered forces
+together, she knocked timorously and entered. It was a cheerful room
+with a bright carpet and an outlook over the river. A small boy who sat
+inside a wooden railing, sprang up and came forward.
+
+"I wish to see Mr. Doe," stammered Patty, "Mr. John Doe."
+
+"Must be a mistake," said the youth. "This is Fairman & Brookes,
+Investments. Nobody that name here, ma'am."
+
+At that moment an elderly man of very proper appearance came forward
+from an inner office.
+
+"Mrs. Crabb?" he inquired, politely. "That will do, Dick, you
+may go inside," and then rather quizzically: "You wished to see
+Mr.--er--Mr.--Doe? Mr. John Doe? I think he was expecting you. If you'll
+wait a moment I'll see," and he entered a door which led to another
+office.
+
+Patricia dropped into a chair by the railing completely baffled. This
+villainous creature expected her! How could he expect her? It was only
+Friday and the appointment was not until the Wednesday of the following
+week. She looked at her surroundings, trying to find a flaw in their
+prosperous garb of respectability. That such rascality could exist
+under the guise of decent business! And the benevolent person who had
+carried her name might very properly serve upon the vestry of St. ----'s
+church! Truly there were depths of iniquity in this vile community of
+business people that her little social plummet could never seek to
+sound. The little red-headed man with the ferret eyes had vanished from
+her mind. In his place she saw a type even more alarming--the sleek,
+well-groomed man with dissipated eyes that she and Mort had often seen
+dining at popular restaurants. Her mission would not be as easy to
+accomplish as it had seemed. Her speech to the ferret-eyed man which she
+had so carefully rehearsed had gone completely from her mind. What she
+should say to this other man, whom she both loathed and feared, her
+vagrant wits refused to invent. So in spite of a brave poise of the head
+she sat in a kind of syncope of dismay, and awaited--she knew not what.
+
+The benevolent vestryman returned smiling.
+
+"Mr. Doe has just come in, Mrs. Crabb. If you'll kindly come this way."
+He opened the door and stood aside with an old-world courtliness that
+all but disarmed her. He followed her into the inner corridor and opened
+another door, smiling the while, and Patricia, trembling from head to
+foot, yet resolute, went in, while the elderly person carefully closed
+the door behind her. A tall figure in an overcoat and soft hat was
+bending over the fireplace upon the opposite side of the room adjusting
+a log.
+
+"Mr. Doe?" came in a small, muffled voice from behind Patricia's veil.
+
+The man at the fireplace still poked at the logs and made no move to
+take off his hat.
+
+"The brute--the utter brute," thought Patricia--and then aloud, "Mr.
+Doe, I believe."
+
+"Yes, madam," said a voice at last. "I'm John Doe--what can I do for
+you?"
+
+"I came about the letters--the letters, you know, you wrote me about. I
+am prepared to--to redeem them."
+
+"H--m," growled the overcoat. "It's Crabb, isn't it? Mrs. Crabb? I'm
+always getting the Cobb and Crabb letters mixed--six of one and half a
+dozen of the other----"
+
+"I beg pardon," faltered Patty.
+
+"Cases very similar. Bad man--good woman. Trusting husband--hey? Well,"
+he muttered brutally, "did you bring the money?"
+
+"It is here," said Patricia, trembling. "Now the letters--and let me
+go."
+
+The man moved slowly toward a desk against the wall with his back still
+turned, took out a package, rose and, turning, handed it to Patricia.
+
+Had her gaze not been fixed so eagerly upon the handwriting on the
+package she could not have failed to note the smiling gray eyes above
+the upturned coat collar.
+
+"Why, it is sealed and addressed to me!" she cried, in surprise. "The
+package hasn't even been opened."
+
+"I never said it had," said the man in the overcoat, removing his hat.
+"I didn't want to read the stuff, Patty."
+
+The package fell to the floor amid the fluttering bills. Patricia's
+knees trembled and she would have fallen had not a pair of strong arms
+gone about her and held her up.
+
+"It's only Mort, Patty," said a voice. "Don't you understand? It's all
+been a deception and mistake. There isn't any John Doe. It's only your
+husband----"
+
+"Oh, how could you, Mort?" sobbed Patricia. "How could you be so
+hard--so--so cruel?"
+
+Crabb's answer was to push the veil back from his wife's face and kiss
+away her tears. She did not resist now and sank against him with a
+restful sigh that told him more than any words could do the full measure
+of her penitence. But in a moment she started up pale and wide-eyed.
+
+"But this office--these people--do they know----"
+
+"Bless you, no," laughed Crabb. "Fairman's a sort of business associate
+of mine. I only borrowed his private office for an hour or so. He thinks
+it is a practical joke. It was--is--a cruel one----"
+
+"But he'll guess----"
+
+"Oh, no, he won't," laughed Crabb.
+
+Patricia's gaze fell quietly upon the floor where the bills and the
+package still lay in disordered confusion.
+
+"And the letters--you never even read them?"
+
+"Oh, Patty," said her husband, "I didn't want to read 'em."
+
+"Can you ever forgive me, Mort?" She broke away from him, bent to the
+floor, picked up the package, and broke the seal.
+
+"But you _shall_ read them, Mort," she cried, her face flaming, "every
+last silly one of them."
+
+But Crabb's hands closed over hers and took the package gently from her.
+His only answer was to throw the papers into the fire.
+
+"Oh, Mort," she murmured, horrified, "what have you done--you might
+believe _anything_ of me now."
+
+"I shall," he chuckled, "that's your penance."
+
+"Please, Mort--there's time yet--just read a few----"
+
+Crabb poked vigorously at the fire.
+
+"Oh, Mort, it's inhuman! You only knew Heywood Pennington----"
+
+"Sh----" said Crabb, putting his hand over her lips. "No names----"
+
+"But he----"
+
+"No, no." And then, after a pause, "He wasn't even a might-have-been,
+Patty." She said no more. They sat hand in hand watching the record of
+Patricia's foolishness go up in smoke. And when the last scrap had
+vanished, he sprang cheerfully to his feet and picked up the scattered
+bills.
+
+"Come, Patty, luncheon! And after that"--Mortimer Crabb stopped again
+and blinked quizzically at the fire--"hadn't we better keep your
+engagement--with Madame Jacquard?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+
+Thus ended the might-have-beens. And the thing that Patricia had taken
+to be the phantom of romance went up in the smoke of John Doe's fire.
+Mortimer Crabb never volunteered any information as to how he got the
+letters, nor any information as to what became of Heywood Pennington.
+For one horrible moment the thought crossed Patricia's brain that
+perhaps there had never been any letters of hers in the package
+her husband had burned, but she dismissed it at once as reflecting
+unpleasantly upon the quality of her intelligence. But one thing was
+sure, she now had an adequate understanding of the mind of her husband.
+It was the only misunderstanding they had ever had and Patricia knew
+there would never be another. Mr. Pennington did not appear again and so
+far as this veracious history is concerned, after his departure from
+New York, may have gone at once to Jericho. Patricia ceased to think
+of him, not because he was not present, but because thinking of him
+reminded her that she had been a fool, and no woman with the reputation
+for cleverness which Patricia possessed, could afford to make such an
+admission even to herself. She was now sure of several things--that she
+loved Mortimer Crabb with all her heart--and that she would never all
+her life long love anyone else. She might flirt, yes--nay more, she
+_must_ flirt. What was the use spending one's life in bringing an art to
+the perfection Patricia had attained and then suddenly forswearing it?
+Fortunately her husband did not require that of her. He never quite knew
+what she was going to do next, but he never really mistrusted her. And
+to Patricia's credit it may be said that she never caused pain and that
+if she flirted--she sometimes did--it was in a good cause.
+
+The building of the country place had gone forward during the winter,
+and early summer found them installed there. Beginning with the
+housewarming, which was memorable, guests came and went and upon them
+all Patricia practiced her altruism which, since the adventure with John
+Doe, had taken a somewhat different character. Yet even among these she
+found work for her busy hands to do.
+
+It happened that among their guests the Crabbs had staying with them as
+a remnant of the housewarming party a young girl who, because she was
+only a little younger than Patricia in years, but centuries younger in
+knowledge of the world, had become one of her most treasured friends.
+
+Little Miss North loved her, too--looked up to her as the ignorant do to
+the wise, and when her engagement to the Baron DeLaunay was announced
+Aurora came and told Patricia even before she told her family. Yet
+Patricia's shrewd mind found something wrong and she urged the girl to
+come and join her housewarming for the sole reason of finding out the
+true inwardness of the engagement, and perhaps, too--who shall say?--to
+practice her arts again.
+
+After a day or two of mild questioning, of studying, of watching, she
+began to see light.
+
+Then she invited the Baron for a week end, and made certain preparations.
+
+Then she waited his arrival with her nerves tingling.
+
+She met her husband and the Baron at the steps as they ascended from the
+machine which brought them from the station.
+
+"Ah monsieur! so glad! I was wondering if you'd be here in time for
+tea."
+
+"Wild horses could not have detained me longer, from a glimpse of your
+_beaux yeux_, Madame."
+
+He bent forward with a handsome gesture and kissed the tips of Patricia's
+fingers, but she laughed gaily.
+
+"Don't waste pretty speeches, Baron. Besides----" she paused significantly
+and pointed toward the door through which her husband's shoulders had
+disappeared, "she is there," she finished.
+
+"_Helas!_" The Frenchman shrugged his shoulders expressively; then
+straightened and showed his teeth in a smile.
+
+"Since my speeches are wasted, I will follow you in, Madame."
+
+Patricia paused.
+
+"All the world loves a lover--even I----"
+
+"Yes--yes----"
+
+"If I could be sure that you loved----"
+
+"You?"
+
+"Her," sternly.
+
+He shrugged again, "Ah, yes--I love her--of course! Why, otherwise,
+should I wish to marry her?"
+
+"I wonder," slowly, "why you speak of my _beaux yeux_?" she said
+thoughtfully.
+
+"Because I cannot help it----"
+
+"A lover should be blind," she put in.
+
+"Like a husband?" he asked, significantly.
+
+"Like a wife," she corrected, soberly.
+
+He followed her indoors, where Aurora met them at the door of the
+library.
+
+"Tea, Aurora," she announced. "Will you pour it? Mort and I will be in
+in a moment."
+
+She hovered in the doorway insistently until she saw DeLaunay safely
+seated on the davenport at the tea-table by Aurora's side, and only then
+she departed in the direction of the smoking room.
+
+Mortimer Crabb was drinking a glass of whiskey and water. At the sound
+of his wife's voice he turned.
+
+"Did you get it, Mort?" she asked.
+
+For reply he fumbled in the pockets of his dust-coat and brought forth a
+small package.
+
+"Oh, yes. Here it is. Pretty insignificant affair to make such a fuss
+about," and he handed it to her.
+
+"It's the little things that mean the most, my dear husband--like that,"
+she said significantly, "and this," and she kissed him for his reward.
+
+He held her away from him and looked at her good-humoredly--the
+quizzical humor that was characteristic of him.
+
+"You never kiss me unless you're up to some mischief, Patty."
+
+"Then you ought to be glad I'm mischievous, Mort. It's an ill wind that
+blows nobody any good."
+
+"H--m. Why all the mystery? Can't you tell a fellow?"
+
+She shook her head.
+
+"No."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"Because then you don't know as much as I do."
+
+"Why shouldn't I?" he protested. "I'm your husband."
+
+"Because if you knew as much as I do----" She paused. "You know, Mort,
+it's only the ignorant husband who's entirely, blissfully happy."
+
+"I'm not so sure about that," he laughed.
+
+"Aren't you happy, Mort?" she asked.
+
+"Ah, hang it, yes. But----"
+
+"Then there's nothing left to be said," and she kissed him again.
+
+"I can't understand----"
+
+She laid resisting fingers on his arm.
+
+"Of course you can't. That's one of your charms, Mort, dear. It's much
+better for a woman to be misunderstood. The husband who 'understands'
+his wife is on the highway to purgatory. Ask no more questions. If I
+answer them I surely will lie to you."
+
+"What the deuce can Daggett and McDade be doing for you. They're
+job-printers. They don't engrave your cards or stationery or
+anything----"
+
+"N----o," with a rising inflection.
+
+"Well--what?"
+
+"I needed some printing."
+
+"Well, why not go to Tiffany's? The idea of your sending me away over on
+the East side----"
+
+"They're such adorable printers, Mort."
+
+"Who ever heard of a printer being adorable? Fudge! What's the game
+now? Can't you tell a fellow?"
+
+"No," firmly.
+
+Crabb always recognized the note of finality in his wife's voice, so he
+merely shrugged his shoulders and followed her with his eyes as she blew
+another kiss in his direction and vanished up the stairs.
+
+In the privacy of her own room Patricia did some cryptic things with
+newspapers, a pair of scissors, and the package from the adorable
+printers, and when she had finished, she folded up the newspapers, with
+their mysterious contents, including the scissors, and with a fleeting
+glance at herself in the mirror, went down stairs.
+
+She entered the library noiselessly and after a glance at her guests at
+the tea-table, she slipped her package into the drawer of the library
+table and joined them.
+
+"How envious you make me--you two," she sighed, sinking into a chair,
+"you're so satisfied with yourselves--and with each other."
+
+DeLaunay smiled and fingered his tea-cup.
+
+"Would you have it otherwise?" he asked.
+
+"Oh, no," she said lightly, "I'm a professional nursery governess to
+polite and well-meaning persons of opposite sexes. Nursery governesses
+are not permitted emotions or opinions of any kind, my dears."
+
+"But even nursery governesses are human, I am told," said DeLaunay,
+showing his white teeth.
+
+"Are they? _My_ governesses never were. They were all inhuman--like me.
+The sight of youthful license arouses all my professional instincts.
+That's why I'm in such demand by despairing mothers of romantic
+heiresses."
+
+"Patty! you're horrid." Aurora's heavily lidded eyes opened wide. "I'm
+not romantic--not in the least--and I'm _not_ an heiress----"
+
+"Oh," said Patricia.
+
+"At least," Aurora amended, "not in the modern sense. But it wouldn't
+matter to Louis or to me if we--really had to work for our living. I'm
+so anxious to be of some use in the world. Oh, we've planned that
+already, haven't we, Louis?"
+
+"Yes," said DeLaunay, crisply, with a glance of defiance in his eye for
+Patricia. "We have planned that."
+
+Patricia's lips twisted, but she said nothing.
+
+"I sometimes think, Patty," went on Aurora, "that you're a little
+unsympathetic. Won't you really like to see us married?"
+
+Patricia laughed. "Oh, yes--but not to each other."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"You're too much in love, dear, for one thing. _C'est si
+bourgeois--n'est-ce-pas, Baron?_ Things are arranged better in France?"
+
+He shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"Your customs in America are very pleasant ones," he replied,
+imperturbably. "I am indeed fortunate to find myself so much in accord
+with them."
+
+Aurora gave him a rapturous glance for reward, and he took her fingers
+in his in calm defiance of his pretty hostess.
+
+Patricia put down her finished tea-cup with a laugh and rose.
+
+"Then I can't dismay you--either of you?"
+
+Aurora smiled scornfully.
+
+"Not in the least--can she, Louis?"
+
+"Not in the least," he repeated.
+
+"Oh, very well, your blood upon your own heads."
+
+"Or in our hearts, Madame," corrected DeLaunay, with a bow.
+
+"Come, Aurora," smiled Patricia, "it's time to dress."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Patricia spent some time and some thought upon her toilet. Deep
+sea-green was her color, for it matched her eyes, which to-night were
+unfathomable. In the midst of her dainty occupation she turned her head
+over her shoulder and called her husband. Mortimer Crabb appeared in the
+door of his dressing-room which adjoined, one side of his face shaved,
+the other white with lather.
+
+"What is it?" he mumbled.
+
+Patricia contemplated the back of her head at the dressing-table by the
+aid of a hand mirror, removed the hairpins one by one from her mouth and
+deliberately placed them before she replied.
+
+"Mort," she said, slowly, "I want you to take Aurora out for a ride in
+the motor----"
+
+"To-night! Oh, I say, Patty----"
+
+"To-night," she said, firmly. "I'll arrange it. It will be dark and
+you're going to lose your way----"
+
+"How do you know I am?"
+
+"Because I tell you so, stupid! You've _got_ to lose your way--for three
+hours."
+
+He looked at her shrewdly.
+
+"What's up now? Tell me, won't you? I'm tired of rolling over and
+playing dead. I am. Besides, what can I do with that girl for three
+hours?"
+
+"Oh, I don't care," said Patricia. "Tell her stories--romantic ones.
+She likes those. Anything--make love to her if you like."
+
+"So DeLaunay can make love to _you_," peevishly. "I see. I'm not going
+to stand for it. I'm not any too keen on that fellow as it is. He's
+neglecting Aurora shamefully----"
+
+"It _is_ careless of him, isn't it?" she said, tilting her head back to
+get another angle on her head-dress.
+
+Crabb took a step nearer, brandishing his safety razor in righteous
+indignation.
+
+"It's a shame, I tell you. You don't seem to have any conscience or any
+sense of proportion. You'd flirt with a cigar-Indian if there wasn't
+anything else around. Why can't you leave these young people alone? Do
+you think I like the idea of your spending the evening here snug and
+warm with that Frenchman while I'm shuttling around with that silly girl
+in the dark?"
+
+"Mortimer, you're ungallant! What has poor Aurora ever done to you?" She
+turned in her chair, looked at him, and then burst into laughter. He
+watched her with a puzzled frown. He never knew exactly how to take
+Patricia when she laughed at him.
+
+"If you only knew how funny you look, Mort, dear. There's a smudge of
+soap on the end of your nose and you look like a charlotte russe." She
+rose slowly, put her fingers on his arm, and looked up into his eyes
+with a very winning expression.
+
+"Don't be silly, dear," she said, softly. "You know you said you weren't
+going to doubt me again--ever. I know what I'm about. I have a duty, a
+sacred duty to perform and you're going to take your share of it."
+
+"A duty?"
+
+She nodded. "You're not to know until it's all over. You mustn't
+question, you're to be good and do exactly what I tell you to do. Won't
+you, Mort? There, I knew you would. It's such a little thing to do."
+
+She leaned as close to him as she could without getting soap on her
+face.
+
+"I'll tell you a secret if you'll promise to be nice. I don't like the
+man--really I don't--not at all."
+
+He looked in her eyes and believed her. "You always get your way in the
+end, don't you?" he said, after a pause.
+
+"Of course I do. What would be the _use_ of a way, if one didn't _have_
+it?"
+
+That seemed unanswerable logic, so Crabb grinned.
+
+"You're a queer one, Patty," which, as Patricia knew, meant that she was
+the most extraordinary and wonderful of persons. So she smiled at the
+back of his head as he went out because she agreed with him.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+
+Patricia's dinner drew to its delectable close, and coffee had already
+been served when the butler went to the front door and brought back a
+telegram on a silver tray.
+
+Patricia picked it up and turned it over daintily.
+
+"For you, Aurora," she said.
+
+Aurora with apologies tore open the envelope and read, her brow
+clouding.
+
+"I hope it's nothing serious," said Patricia, sweetly sympathetic.
+
+Aurora rose hurriedly. "I don't know," she said dubiously, and then
+reading: "'Aunt Jane sick, motor over this evening if possible.' There's
+no signature. I suppose I'll have to go." Her lip protruded childishly.
+"How tiresome!"
+
+"It's very inconsiderate of her, isn't it?" said Patricia. The look of
+incomprehension still lingered on the young girl's face.
+
+"I can't see what she wants of me," she murmured.
+
+"Perhaps she's seriously ill," Patricia volunteered.
+
+"Perhaps--yes, I must go, of course. But how can I?"
+
+"Mortimer," Patricia provided the cue.
+
+"I'll drive you, Aurora," said Crabb.
+
+"And Louis?"
+
+DeLaunay made no sign.
+
+"I will take care of the Monsieur DeLaunay, dear. Do you think you could
+trust me?"
+
+Aurora's lips said, "Of course," but her eyes winked rapidly several
+times as she adapted her mind to the situation.
+
+The decision reached, DeLaunay stepped forward.
+
+"If you wish that I should go----"
+
+"Quite unnecessary," put in Patricia, quickly. "If your aunt Jane is
+sick, Aurora----"
+
+Aurora hung in the wind a regretful moment.
+
+"Oh, yes--he'd be in the way. I'll leave him with you, Patty. Please
+don't flirt any more than you can help."
+
+"My dear child," said Patty, with solemn conviction, "since poor,
+foolish Freddy Winthrop, engaged men are _taboo_. Besides, to-night I
+have other plans. I would not flirt if you could animate the Apollo
+Belvedere. As Mortimer so chastely puts it, 'me for the downy at 10 G.
+M.' Monsieur will doubtless practice pool-shots or play a game of
+Napoleon."
+
+"Oh, yes," said the Frenchman, with a calmness which scarcely concealed
+the note of derision.
+
+But Aurora, after one long look in his direction, had vanished to
+don motor clothing, and when she came down, Mortimer Crabb with his
+quivering car awaited her in the drive. Patricia and the Baron waved
+them good-by from the porch and then went indoors to the subtle
+effulgence of the drawing room. Patricia walked to the mantel, turned
+her back to the fire and stretched her shapely arms along its shelf,
+facing her guest with level gaze and a smile which was something between
+a taunt and a caress. DeLaunay inhaled luxuriously the smoke of his
+cigarette and appraised his hostess through the half-closed eyes of the
+artist searching for a "motif." She was puzzling--this woman--like the
+vagrant color in a landscape in the afternoon sunlight, which shimmered
+one moment in the sun and in the next was lost in shadowy mystery--not
+the mystery of the solemn hills, but the playful mystery of the woodland
+brook which laughs mockingly from secret places. Her eyes were laughing
+at him. He felt it, though none of the physical symbols of laughter were
+offered in evidence.
+
+"I'm so sorry, Monsieur," she began in French. "It is _such_ a pity.
+There is no excuse for any one to have a sick aunt when the stage is
+set for sentiment. I had planned your evening so carefully, too----"
+
+"You are the soul of kindness, Madame," he said politely, still studying
+her.
+
+"Yes," she went on, slowly, "I think I am. But then I am _chez moi_, and
+charity, you know, begins at home."
+
+"I hope you will not call it charity. Charity they say is cold. And you,
+Madame, whatever you would seek to express, are not cold."
+
+"How can you know?"
+
+"Your eyes----"
+
+"My _beaux yeux_ again." She shrugged her shoulders, and turned toward
+the door. "It is time, I think, for you to practice pool-shots."
+
+"Ah, you are cruel!" He stepped before her and held out protesting
+hands. "I do not care for pool, Madame."
+
+"Or Napoleon?"
+
+"No--I wish to talk with you. Please!"
+
+She paused, appraising him sideways.
+
+"I have some letters to write," she said, briefly.
+
+"Please, Madame." He stood before her, his slender figure gracefully
+bent, motioning appealingly toward the deep davenport, which was set
+invitingly in front of the fire. She followed his gesture with her eyes,
+then with a light laugh passed before him and sat down.
+
+"Nothing about my _beaux yeux_ then," she mocked.
+
+He glanced at her with a smile which showed his fine teeth and sank
+beside her and at a distance.
+
+"_Voila_, Madame! You see? I am an angel of discretion."
+
+She smiled approvingly. "I'm glad we understand each other."
+
+"Do we?" he asked with a suggestion of effrontery.
+
+"I hope so."
+
+"I'm not so sure. To me you are still a mystery."
+
+"Am I? That's curious. I've tried to make my meaning plain. Perhaps I
+can make it clearer. For some weeks you have been making love to me,
+Monsieur. I don't like it. I never flirt, except with the very ancient
+or the very youthful," she said mendaciously. "You don't come within my
+age limits."
+
+He laughed gayly.
+
+"Love is of all ages and no ages. I am both ancient and youthful. Old
+in hope, young in despair--in affairs of the heart, I assure you, a
+veritable babe in the arms. I have never really loved--until now."
+
+"Why do you marry Aurora then?" she put in.
+
+He looked at her with a puzzled brow, then laughed merrily. "Madame, you
+are too clever to waste your time in America." But as Patricia was
+looking very gravely into the fire, he too relapsed into silence, and
+frowned at the ash of his cigarette.
+
+"I do not see, Madame, why we should speak of her," he said, sulkily. "It
+must be clear to you that our understanding is complete. The marriages
+in my country, as you know----"
+
+"Oh, yes, I know," she interrupted, "but Miss North is different. She
+has not the social ambitions of other girls. Miss North is romantic but
+quite unspoiled. Has it occurred to you that perhaps she may hope for a
+somewhat different relation between you?"
+
+"We are good friends--very good friends. She is enchanting," he said
+with enthusiasm, "so innocent of the ways of the world, so talented, so
+charming. We shall be very happy."
+
+"I hope so," dryly.
+
+He examined her shrewdly.
+
+"You have her happiness close to your heart! Is it not so? What is to be
+feared? I shall be very good to her. We understand each other. She will
+be glad of the splendor of my ancient name, and I desire the means to
+restore my estates and place myself in a position of influence among
+my people. I care for her as one cares for a lovely flower--but the
+mind--the soul, Madame, I have found them--elsewhere," he leaned forward
+and touched her fingers with his own.
+
+Patricia's gaze was far away. It seemed as though she was unconscious of
+his touch. "It is a pity," she said, softly, "a great pity. I am very
+sorry."
+
+"Could you not learn to care a little?"
+
+She turned on him then, but her voice was still gentle.
+
+"We are not in France, Monsieur," she said coldly.
+
+"What does that matter?" he urged. "Love knows nothing of geography.
+Love is a cosmopolite. It cares not for time or place or convention. I
+care for you very much, Madame, and whatever you may think, it makes me
+happy to tell you so."
+
+"And Aurora?" Patricia reiterated the word, like the clanging of an
+alarm bell.
+
+The Baron relaxed his grasp and lowered his head.
+
+She leaned forward, elbow on knee, looking into the fire.
+
+"You know, Baron, I'm very sorry for Aurora."
+
+As he made no comment she went on:
+
+"She has always been a very sweet, amiable, honorable child. I'm very
+fond of her. She was very much alone with her books and her family. She
+has always lived in an atmosphere of her own--an atmosphere that she
+made for herself, without companions of her own age. Her mother brought
+her up without the slightest knowledge of the guile, the deceit, or
+wickedness of the world in which some day she was to live. They used
+even to scan the newspapers before she was permitted to read them, and
+clip out objectionable paragraphs. Even I have done that since she has
+been here visiting me. Her father was always too busy making money to
+bother. At the age of twenty she is still a dreamer, old in nothing but
+years, living in an idyl of her own, the sleeping princess in the
+fairy-tale whom you, the gallant prince, have awakened with a kiss."
+
+DeLaunay's shoulders moved slightly as he sighed.
+
+"That kiss, Monsieur! You have awakened her," she went on, "to what?"
+She paused abruptly and turned toward him for a reply.
+
+"Your question is hardly flattering to my vanity," he said, smiling.
+"There are women----"
+
+"She is a child."
+
+"All women are children. I shall find means to make her happy."
+
+Patricia resumed her study of the fire.
+
+"I hope so. With money your opportunities for happiness would be
+greater. Without money----" she paused and shook her head slowly.
+
+The Baron turned abruptly, but Patricia's gaze was fixed upon the fire.
+When he spoke his tones were suppressed--his manner constrained.
+
+"Madame--what do you mean?"
+
+She faced him slowly, her expression gently sympathetic.
+
+"Have you not heard?"
+
+"Heard what, Madame?"
+
+"Of Monsieur North's misfortune--you must have seen it in the
+newspapers----"
+
+"The newspapers! No--what is it?"
+
+"Monsieur North has lost his money."
+
+DeLaunay rose quickly, one hand before him as though to ward off a blow.
+
+"What you tell me is impossible," he said thickly.
+
+"No," gravely. "It is true."
+
+He stared at her unbelieving, but her eyes met his calmly, eagerly, and
+in their depths he saw only pity.
+
+"Would I not have heard this dreadful thing, Madame? Aurora would have
+told me."
+
+"She might have told you if she had known."
+
+"She did not know?"
+
+"They want to save her the pain. They always have. That is one reason
+why she is stopping here with me. Don't you understand?"
+
+DeLaunay showed other signs of inquietude and was now pacing the rug
+nervously.
+
+"It is incredible!" he was saying, "incredible! I cannot--no----" And he
+stopped before her. "No, I will not believe it!"
+
+Patricia clasped her hands over her knees and was looking very gravely
+into the fire. She had the air of a person who is mourning the loss of a
+very dear friend.
+
+"How do you know this?" he asked again, anxiously.
+
+"From Mrs. North a week ago, when she let Aurora come to me. But it is
+no secret now, as it has been in the newspapers. I have kept them from
+Aurora. She is so happy here with you--I hadn't the heart to do anything
+to destroy her pleasure."
+
+"But North and Company is a very great business house. So rich that even
+in France we have heard of them."
+
+"Yes--Mr. North has been rich for years," and then with a sigh, "It is
+very sad--very, very sad."
+
+"But how could such a thing happen? Surely he is wise enough----"
+
+"Speculation!" said Patricia, simply. "All of our business men
+speculate. Even the oldest--the wisest."
+
+DeLaunay sank into a chair at some distance, his head in his hands.
+"_Dieu!_" she heard him mutter. "What a terrible country. I cannot
+believe----"
+
+Patricia got up at last and walked over and put her hand quietly on his
+shoulder. She was even smiling.
+
+"I am so sorry, Monsieur. Of course you know that, don't you? But I am
+sure everything will turn out for the best. Aurora loves you. You must
+remember that poverty will make no difference in the relations between
+you. She will even welcome the chance to be poor--she wants to be of
+some real use in the world--she has said so--you had even planned that,
+Monsieur!"
+
+The Frenchman turned just one look in her direction, a look in which
+despair, inquietude, inquiry and anger were curiously blended and then
+rose and strode the length of the room away.
+
+"You are mocking me. You know, Madame--that--that it is impossible--this
+marriage--if--what you tell me is true."
+
+"I wish I could reassure you," slowly.
+
+"What proofs have you?"
+
+"Isn't my word enough?"
+
+"Yes, but----"
+
+"You want confirmation. Very well!" Patricia walked to the library
+table, opened its drawer, and took out the _Sun_ and _Herald_. As she
+opened them two paper cuttings and a pair of scissors fell to the
+floor. She picked them up before DeLaunay could reach her, opening
+the newspapers, both of which bore signs of mutilation. And while he
+wondered what she was about to do or say, she resumed calmly, even
+indifferently. "I had clipped these papers that Aurora might not see
+them. Since you profess some incredulity, perhaps you'd rather read for
+yourself." And she handed them to him.
+
+He adjusted his monocle with trembling fingers, and began reading the
+slips, his lips moving, his eyes dilated, while Patricia watched him,
+her eyes masked by her fingers. She saw him read one article through,
+then scan the other, his lips compressed, his small chin working
+forward.
+
+"Five million dollars!" he whispered at last. "It is terrible--terrible.
+And there will be nothing at all."
+
+"It looks so, doesn't it?" she replied. "Read on."
+
+And he read the remainder of it aloud, pausing at each sentence as
+though fascinated by the horror of it. When he had read the last word,
+the papers dropped from his fingers upon the tea-table beside him. At a
+grimace his eye-glass dropped the length of its cord and he stood erect,
+squaring his shoulders and straightening to his small height with the
+air of a man who has made a resolution.
+
+"Madame," he said, more calmly, "this is very disagreeable news."
+
+"It's quite sad, isn't it? But I must warn you against speaking to
+Aurora just yet. The news is spreading fast enough and to-morrow it may
+be necessary to tell her. In the meanwhile you must be gentle with her
+and tender--you can comfort her so much. She will need all your kindness
+now, Monsieur."
+
+But DeLaunay had taken out his watch. "Madame, I thank you for your
+kindness to me, but I am--I am much perturbed--I--I do not want to see
+Miss North until I can think what I must do. Would you mind if I went in
+town to my hotel----"
+
+"To-night?"
+
+"Yes--to-night."
+
+"She will think it strange for you to go without a word."
+
+"I--I----"
+
+"You could leave a note."
+
+"You will permit me?"
+
+Patricia watched him seat himself heavily at her writing-desk.
+
+"Monsieur," she asked, "what will you say to her?"
+
+"That I am ill--that I----"
+
+"How will that help either you or her?"
+
+He shrugged his shoulders hopelessly.
+
+"What then, Madame?"
+
+"I don't know," she said, slowly. "It is a very painful note to write. I
+am very sorry for you, sorry for Miss North, sorry for myself that you
+learned of this through me. It is curious that no one told you," she
+sighed. "But perhaps it is just as well that you know."
+
+"I am grateful, Madame, I cannot tell you how grateful," he began, but
+she held up her hand.
+
+"It pains me to see Miss North unhappy, but I know more of life than she
+does. I was educated in France, Monsieur, and I know what is expected of
+American girls who marry into the _ancienne noblesse_--the _noblesse de
+souche_. Of course, without a _dot_, this marriage is impossible."
+
+"Yes, Madame, that is true. It is--impossible, absolutely impossible."
+
+"Aurora--Miss North believes in your love for her--she will hardly
+understand----"
+
+DeLaunay swung around in his chair and rose, facing the hostess.
+
+"There must be no misunderstanding between us," decisively, "I shall go
+at once."
+
+"That's your decision--your final decision?"
+
+"It is--final."
+
+By this time she stood beside him at the desk, and as she spoke her
+finger pointed to the paper and ink.
+
+"Then you must write her to-night--before you go. It would not be fair
+to leave matters to me. It is not fair to her or to yourself. Sit down,
+Monsieur, and write."
+
+He sank into the chair again.
+
+"And what shall I write?"
+
+"If I can help you----" sweetly.
+
+"I will write what you say," with a sigh of relief.
+
+So Patricia seated herself beside him and with a troubled brow dictated
+in English.
+
+     "My dear Miss North:
+
+     "I have learned with horror and dismay of the great bereavement
+     which has fallen upon you and your family, but in view of this
+     misfortune, I have thought it wisest to take my departure at
+     once.
+
+     "You will understand, of course, that under these conditions it
+     is advisable to discontinue our present relations at once, and
+     as my presence might prove embarrassing I leave with feelings
+     of great unhappiness. You are doubtless aware of the customs of
+     my country in the matter of settlements, the absence of which
+     would preclude the possibility of marriage on my part.
+
+     "Mrs. Crabb has kindly consented to make my apologies and
+     excuses to you for my abrupt departure which I take with deep
+     regret, the deeper because of my profound esteem for your many
+     delightful qualities, of which you may be assured I shall
+     never cease to think with tender and regretful sentiments----"
+
+Patricia broke off abruptly. "I think that is all, Monsieur. Will you
+finish it--as you please?"
+
+The baron nodded and added:
+
+     "I am, Mademoiselle, with profound assurances of my friendship
+     and consideration,
+
+                              "Yours,
+                              "Louis Charles Bertram de Chartres,
+                              "Baron DeLaunay."
+
+
+Patricia meanwhile had ordered the Baron's suitcase packed and had
+'phoned for a station wagon and a while later stood in the hallway
+speeding the parting guest.
+
+"Must you go, Monsieur? I am so very sorry. I understand, of course. I
+am the loser." And with all the generosity of a victorious general whose
+enemy is no longer dangerous. "If you are nice you may kiss my hand."
+
+As DeLaunay bent over her fingers he murmured: "If it had only been
+_you_, Madame."
+
+And in a moment he had gone.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+
+Patricia stood in the hallway a moment looking at the note to Aurora,
+which she held in her fingers. Then she went to the desk so recently
+vacated by her guest and wrote steadily for an hour. Her thesis was the
+international marriage, and she called it Crabb vs. DeLaunay, enclosing
+two papers, DeLaunay's note and the newspaper clippings from her
+adorable printers. Slips of paper were pinned to them, upon one of which
+she had written "Exhibit A," and on the other "Exhibit B." She sealed
+them all in a long envelope addressed to Miss North and handed it to
+Aurora's maid with instructions that it should be given to her mistress
+when she had gone up to her room.
+
+From her own bed Patricia heard the motor arrive and her husband
+fuming in the hallway below, the sound of Aurora's door closing and
+of Mortimer's heavy footsteps in his own quarters; then after awhile,
+silence. She lay on her bed in the dark thinking, listening intently. It
+was long before she was rewarded. Then her door opened quietly, and in
+the aperture the night-lamp showed a pale, tear-stained face and a
+slender, girlish figure swathed in a pale blue dressing gown.
+
+"Patricia!" the girl half sobbed, half whispered, "Patty!"
+
+Patricia rose in her bed and took the slender figure into her sheltering
+arms. "Aurora--darling. I've been waiting for you. Can you forgive me?"
+
+"Yes--yes," sobbed the girl. "I understand."
+
+"You were too good for him, Aurora, dear. He wasn't worthy of you." And
+then, as an afterthought. "But then, I don't know a man who is."
+
+Patricia breathed a sigh of relief. She had thought it was going to be
+more difficult. She made room for the girl in the bed beside her and
+soothed and petted her until she fell asleep.
+
+"Poor Aurora," she murmured softly to herself. "You were never destined
+for a life like that, child. The man you marry is to be an American, a
+fine, young, healthy animal like yourself. I will not tell you his name
+because if I did, you'd probably refuse him, and of course that would
+never do. It must be managed some way. He's poor, you know, dear, but
+then that won't matter because you will have enough for both."
+
+It did not take Aurora a great while to recover from the shock of
+disillusion and before long she was out on the golf links again,
+with her usual happy following. Aurora had many virtues as well as
+accomplishments, and Patricia was very fond of her. During the winter in
+the city, she had given a dinner for her to which Stephen Ventnor was
+invited. Patricia's plan had succeeded admirably, for Ventnor, after
+several years of indomitable faithfulness to the ashes of the mourned
+Patricia, had suddenly come to life. He liked Aurora so much that he
+didn't even take the trouble to hide his new emotion from Patricia.
+Patricia sighed, for even now renunciation was difficult to her, but
+when she moved into the country for the summer, she held out the
+latch-string to him for the week ends so that he could come out every
+week and play golf with Aurora, which showed that after all marriage had
+taught Patricia something.
+
+Patricia had decided that Aurora North was to marry Steve Ventnor, and
+this resolution made she left no stone unturned to bring the happy event
+to a consummation. The skilful maker of opportunities she remembered
+sometimes trusted to opportunity to make itself. Propinquity, she knew,
+was her first lieutenant and the unobtrusive way in which these two
+young people were continually thrown together must have been a surprise
+even to themselves. Ventnor took his two weeks of vacation in July and
+spent them at the Crabbs'. Patricia had thought that those two weeks
+would have brought the happy business to a conclusion--for Aurora was
+just ready to be caught on the rebound, and Ventnor was now very much in
+love. But when Steve's vacation was over and he had packed his trunk to
+go mournfully back to town, Patricia knew that something had happened to
+change her well-laid plans.
+
+She had never given Jimmy McLemore a thought. She had seen the three
+many times during the summer from her bedroom windows, Aurora, Steve and
+McLemore, but the thought of Aurora having a tenderness for the golfing
+automaton had never for a moment entered her mind. She watched Mr.
+Ventnor's departing back with mingled feelings.
+
+"You'll be out on Saturday as usual, won't you, Steve?" she asked.
+
+"Oh, yes, thank you, Patty," he replied, "I'll be out, if you'll have
+me. But there isn't much use, you know."
+
+"Don't be so meek, Steve!" she cried. "You're impossible when you're
+that way. What earthly use did you make of all of my training?"
+
+Ventnor smiled mournfully.
+
+"You didn't begin soon enough, Patty," he said.
+
+That pleased Patricia and she made a mental resolution that marry
+Aurora, Steve should, if it lay in her power to accomplish it.
+
+"There's something wrong with that girl," she mused, as she watched
+Aurora and "the Sphynx"--as McLemore was familiarly called--playing
+the fifth hole. "Anybody who can see anything marriageable in Jimmy
+McLemore, ought to be carefully confined behind a garden wall. Jimmy! I
+would as soon think of marrying a statue of Buddha."
+
+The _Blue Wing_ was out of commission for the summer. Mortimer insisted
+that no sane man could maintain both a big yacht and a big country
+place. But Patricia was very happy and watched the development of Steve
+Ventnor's romance with a jealous eye. She was obliged to admit, as the
+summer lengthened into autumn, that after all, the whole thing was very
+much a matter of golf.
+
+Aurora was golf mad, Patricia knew, and when Jimmy McLemore ran down a
+twenty-foot putt for a "bird" on the sixteenth hole, thereby winning
+"three up and two" from Steve Ventnor, the golf championship of the
+Country Club, Patricia detached herself from the "gallery" which had
+followed the players and made her way sadly to the Club House veranda.
+Penelope Wharton, her sister, who was fond of Ventnor, followed, the
+picture of dejection. In the morning round Steve had been "one up"; and
+the hopes of the two women had run high that their champion would be
+able to increase his lead during the afternoon, or at least to maintain
+it against his redoubtable adversary, but after the first few holes the
+victor had developed one of those "streaks" for which he was famous, and
+though poor old Steve had played a steady up-hill game, the luck went
+against him and he knew at the tenth hole that unless McLemore fell over
+in a fit, the gold cup was lost--for that year at least.
+
+Patricia realized, too, that the famous gold cup might not be the only
+prize at stake.
+
+"And now," she said wrathfully, "she'll probably marry that _person_."
+Mr. McLemore would have withered could he have seen the expression in
+Patricia's eyes, for when Patricia called any human being a "person," it
+meant that her thoughts were unutterable.
+
+"I suppose so," said Penelope.
+
+"I've no patience with Aurora North," said Patty, "she's absolutely
+lacking in a sense of proportion. Imagine letting one's life happiness
+hang on the fate of a single putt."
+
+"And Steve is _such_ a dear."
+
+"He is, that's the worst of it--and they're eminently fitted for
+each other in every way--by birth, breeding, and circumstances. As a
+sportsman Jimmy may be a success, but as a gentleman--as a lover--as a
+_husband_----"
+
+Patricia's two brown hands were raised in protest toward Olympus. "It's
+odious, Pen, a case for a grand jury--or a coroner!"
+
+"Aurora is too nice a girl," sighed Penelope.
+
+"Nice! In everything but discrimination. That's the peril of being an
+'out-of-door girl.' The more muscle, the less gray matter. That kind of
+thing disturbs the balance of power." Patricia sighed--"Oh, I tried
+it and I know. A woman with too much muscle is like an over-rigged
+yawl--all right in light airs, but dangerous in a blow. What's the use?
+Our greatest strength after all, is weakness."
+
+"I'm sure you couldn't convince Aurora of that--nor Steve."
+
+"I don't know," said Patricia, slowly, "but I'd like to try."
+
+Further talk was interrupted by the arrival of the crowd from the
+fair-green, thirsty and controversial. Steve Ventnor, like the good
+loser that he was, had been the first to shake McLemore by the hand in
+congratulation, and if he was heavy of heart, his smiling face gave no
+sign of it. For the present, at least, he had abandoned the field to
+his conqueror who brought up the rear of the "gallery" with Aurora,
+accepting handshakes right and left with the changeless dignity which
+had gained him his sobriquet of "Sphynx." At the veranda steps Mortimer
+Crabb took him in tow and brought him to the table where Penelope and
+Patricia were mournfully absorbing lemonade.
+
+"Too bad, Steve," said Patricia with a brightness that failed to deceive.
+"Nobody with mere blood in his veins can expect to compete with a
+hydraulic ram. He's a wonderful piece of mechanism--Jimmy is--but I'm
+always tortured with the fear that he may forget to wind himself up some
+morning. Mort, couldn't you have dropped a little sand in his bearings?"
+
+"Oh, he's got plenty of sand," said Crabb generously.
+
+"He's a cracking good golfer," said Steve, looking reprovingly at
+Patricia. "He's the better man, that's all."
+
+He sank beside Patricia while Crabb had a steward take the orders.
+
+"No," muttered Patricia. "Not that, not the better man, only the better
+golfer, Steve." And then with a sudden and mystifying change of manner,
+"Do you know why he always wears a crimson vest?"
+
+"No--I've never thought," replied Steve.
+
+"It's very--un--er--unprofessional--isn't it?"
+
+"It isn't what a man wears that wins holes, you know, Patty."
+
+"Oh, no," she said, carelessly, "I was just wondering----"
+
+Mortimer Crabb, unofficial host of the occasion, had beckoned to Aurora
+and McLemore, who now joined the party. Steve Ventnor rose as the
+girl approached and their eyes met. Aurora's eyes were the color of
+lapis-lazuli, but the deep tan of her skin made them seem several shades
+lighter. They were handsome eyes, very clear and expressive, and at
+important moments like the present ones her long lashes effectually
+screened what might have been read in their depths.
+
+"I'm sorry, Steve," she said gently. "You didn't have enough practice."
+
+"Are you really?" asked Steve. He bent his head forward and said
+something for Aurora's ears alone, at which her lids dropped still
+further and the ends of her lips curved demurely. But she did not reply,
+and turned in evident relief when Crabb made a hospitable suggestion.
+
+Patricia watched the by-play with interest. She had followed the romance
+with mingled feelings, for it was apparent that the triangle which had
+been equilateral in the spring was now distorted out of all semblance to
+its former shape, with poor Steve getting the worst of it. The reason
+was clear. The Sphynx was rich and so could afford to play golf with
+Aurora every day of the year if he wished, while Steve Ventnor, who
+spent his daylight hours selling bonds in the city, had to make the most
+of his Saturday and Sunday afternoons. It was really too bad.
+
+But the Sphynx only smiled his unhumorous smile, and went on playing
+golf during the week when Ventnor was at work. Propinquity had done a
+damage which even Patricia, with all her worldliness, could not find
+available means to repair. But she joined good-humoredly in the toasts
+to the new club champion who was accepting his honors carelessly,
+keeping her eyes meanwhile on Jimmy McLemore's crimson vest. That vest
+was a part of Jimmy's golf, as much a part of it as his tauric glasses,
+his preliminary wiggle on the tee, or his maddening precision on the
+putting-green. It fascinated her somehow, almost to the exclusion of the
+gayety in which she rightfully had a part.
+
+The gold cup was brought forth and passed from hand to hand. As it came
+to Patricia she looked at it inside and out, read the inscription
+leisurely, then handed it carelessly to her neighbor.
+
+"Chaste and quite expensive," was her comment.
+
+"Oh, I think it's beautiful," said Aurora, reprovingly.
+
+"_Chaque enfant a son gou gou_, my dear," said Patricia. "You know,
+Aurora, I never did approve of golf prizes--especially valuable ones.
+After all, golf is merely a game--not a religion. It's the habit in this
+club to consider a golf cup with the same kind of an eye that one gives
+to a possible seat in Paradise."
+
+Even Steve Ventnor thought Patricia's remarks in bad taste.
+
+"If Jimmy plays the game of life the way he played golf to-day," he
+laughed, "he'll have an eighteen-karat halo, and no mistake."
+
+"Patty!" exclaimed Miss North, reprovingly. "You know you don't believe
+a word you say. You love golf prizes. Why you're always giving the
+Bachelors' Cup, and this year you've presented the cup for the
+'Affinity Foursomes.' Besides, you've won at least three prizes
+yourself."
+
+"I've reformed," said Patricia, decisively. "I've lost patience with
+golf. I haven't any interest in a game that requires the elimination of
+all human attributes."
+
+"What on earth are you talking about?"
+
+"One can't be entirely human and play a good game of golf, that's all,"
+she announced.
+
+"That's rough on McLemore," laughed Mortimer.
+
+"It's human to be irritated, human to be angry, human to have nerves,
+human to make mistakes. I've no patience with people who can't lose
+their tempers."
+
+"I'm apt to lose mine, if you keep calling me names," said the Sphynx,
+affably.
+
+"You couldn't, Jimmy," said Patricia, soberly. "Anyone who can make the
+tenth, eleventh and twelfth in eleven playing out of two bunkers will
+never lose his temper in this world--or anything else," she added,
+_sotto voce_.
+
+"There won't be any more Bachelors' Cups, then?"
+
+"Not if I can help it. At least not for the Ancient and Honorable Game
+as we play it now. The Bachelors' Cup this fall will be played for
+across country." The members of the party examined her as though they
+believed she had suddenly been bereft of her senses--all but her
+husband, who knew that in being surprised at Patty, one was wasting
+valuable energy, but even Mortimer was mildly curious.
+
+"Across country!" they asked.
+
+"Exactly. I'm going to invest the game with a real sporting interest,
+develop the possibilities of the niblick, eliminate the merely
+mechanical, introduce a stronger element of chance. The course will be
+laid out like a 'drag.'"
+
+"With an anise-seed bag?" queried Crabb.
+
+Patricia withered her husband with a look. "With scraps of paper," she
+asserted, firmly. "The course will be four miles long over good hunting
+country."
+
+"You can't mean it," said McLemore.
+
+"I do. It's quite feasible."
+
+"Yes, but----"
+
+"It's a good sporting proposition," said Aurora North, suddenly kindling
+to interest. "Why not?"
+
+Ventnor and McLemore only smiled amusedly, as became true golfers.
+
+"Oh you can laugh, you two. Why not give it a trial? Just to make it
+interesting I'll offer a cup for the Club champion and runner-up. It
+will be a pretty cup--and Aurora and I will caddy."
+
+"Willingly," laughed Aurora.
+
+There the matter stopped. It was a joke, of course, and both men
+realized it, but any joke in which Aurora North had a part was the joke
+for them. A week passed before Patricia completed her plans and in the
+meanwhile everybody had forgotten all about her amazing proposition. It
+was, therefore, with surprise and not a little amusement that McLemore
+and Ventnor received the dainty notice in Patricia's handwriting, which
+advised them that the Cross Country Match would be played off on the
+following Thursday afternoon, at two o'clock. Jimmy McLemore smiled at a
+photograph on the desk in his library, but later in the day after a talk
+over the telephone with Aurora he got a mashie, and a heavy mid-iron
+from his bag and went out in his own cow-pasture to practice. Steve
+Ventnor in his office in the city turned the note over in his fingers
+and frowned. Thursday was his busiest day, but he realized that he had
+given his promise and that if McLemore played he must. It was a very
+silly business. Several things mystified him, however. What did Patricia
+mean, for instance, by the absurd lines at the bottom of his invitation?
+"Aurora will caddy for you; and don't wear a crimson vest--there's
+nothing to be gained by it."
+
+On a slip of paper enclosed were the _local rules_:
+
+     (1) The first ball and every fourth ball thereafter may be
+         played from a rubber tee.
+
+     (2) A ball in "casual" water may be lifted and dropped without
+         penalty.
+
+     (3) Running brooks, ponds, rocks, fences, etc., are natural
+         hazards, and must be played over as such.
+
+     (4) A lost ball means the loss of one stroke, but not of
+         distance. A ball may be dropped within twenty-five yards
+         of the spot where ball disappeared.
+
+     (5) _The match must be finished_ within four hours. The
+         competitor who for any reason fails to finish loses the
+         match.
+
+Steve Ventnor smiled as he read, but in spite of his golf sense, which
+is like no other sense in the world, felt himself gently warming to the
+project. He would go of course--for Aurora was to caddy for him.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+
+Even Mortimer Crabb was excluded from that charming luncheon of four. It
+was very informal and great was the merriment at Patricia's expense, but
+through it all she smiled calmly at their scepticism--as Columbus at
+Salamanca must have smiled, if he ever did, or Newton or Edison, or any
+others of the world's great innovators.
+
+"Cross-country golf," she continued proudly to assert, "is the golf of
+the New Era."
+
+"Do you really mean it, Patty?" asked Aurora seriously, when the men had
+gone upstairs to change.
+
+"Of course I do, Aurora. The Ancient and Honorable Game has its
+limitations. Cross-country golf has none. You'll see, my dear, in ten
+years, they'll be playing distance matches between New York and
+Philadelphia--the fewest strokes in the shortest time--that _will_ be a
+game."
+
+"And who'll pay for the lost balls?" asked Aurora, laughing.
+
+"That, Aurora," replied Patricia with a touch of dignity, "is something
+with which I am remotely concerned."
+
+The men came down stairs dressed for the fray, grinning broadly, and
+Patricia, after a glance at McLemore's red vest, took up his golf bag
+with a business-like air and led the way to the terrace. The Sphynx
+blinked through his tauric glasses at her unresponsive back silhouetted
+in the doorway, but as Aurora had taken Steve's bag, he followed meekly,
+submitting to the inevitable. Outside, Patricia was indicating a rift in
+the row of maples which bordered her vegetable garden, through which was
+to be seen the brown sweep of the meadow beyond.
+
+"The drive is through there. You'll get the direction marks for your
+second. The distance is four miles. The finish is on Aurora's lawn--the
+putting-green near the rear portico of the house. Drive off, gentlemen."
+
+The honor was Mr. McLemore's. With a saddish smile, half of pity and
+half of a protest for his outraged golfing dignity, he took his bag from
+Patricia, and with a frugality which did him credit, upturned the bag on
+the lawn, spilling out a miscellany of old balls which he had saved for
+practice strokes. Selecting half a dozen, he stuffed five of them in his
+pockets, returned the newer ones to his bag and scorning the rubber tee
+which Patricia offered him, dropped a ball over his shoulder and took
+his cleek out of his bag. Each act was sportsman-like--a fine expression
+of the golfing spirit.
+
+The drive went straight--and they saw it bouncing coquettishly up the
+meadow beyond. Steve, with the munificence which only poverty knows,
+brought forth a new ball, took the rubber tee and, with his driver, got
+off a long low one which cleared the bushes and vanished over the brow
+of the hill.
+
+"A new golfing era has begun," said Patricia, with the air of a prophet.
+
+"If I ever find my ball," said Ventnor, dubiously.
+
+"What do you care, Steve, as long as you're making history?" laughed
+Aurora, with a sly glance at their hostess.
+
+Patricia, unperturbed, led the way through a breach in the hedge and out
+into the sunlight where she raised a crimson parasol, which no one had
+noticed before.
+
+"My complexion," she explained to Aurora. "One can't be too careful when
+one gets to be--ahem--thirty. Besides, it just matches Jimmy's vest."
+
+The grass in the pasture was short and McLemore played his brassey--his
+caddy instructing him as to the ground on the other side, which fell
+gently down to a brook he could not reach.
+
+"I got that one away," said McLemore, livening to his task. "It's not
+really bad going at all."
+
+Patricia smiled gratefully, but made no response, for Steve, a little
+further on, was in a hole and had to play out with a mashie, which he
+did with consummate skill, the ball rolling down the hill thirty yards
+short of McLemore's.
+
+From the hilltop they could easily see the line of the paper chase which
+Patricia had laid when she rode over the course yesterday. It stretched
+across the lower end of the Renwick's meadows along the road, crossing
+two streams, bordered with willow trees and led straight for Waterman's
+stone quarry. Ventnor played a careful mid-iron which cleared the brook
+and bounded forward into the meadow beyond; but McLemore overreached
+himself trying for distance and found the brook, losing his ball and two
+strokes; but he teed up, having played five and lay six well down the
+meadow, within carrying distance of the second stream. But Steve,
+playing steadily, passed him with his fourth, a long cleek shot which
+fell just short of the stream.
+
+Beyond the creek was the hill to the quarry, three shots for McLemore,
+two long ones for Ventnor. With excellent judgment McLemore played
+safely over the creek with a mid-iron, reaching the brink of the quarry
+in two more, which gave him a chance to tee up on his ninth for the long
+drive across. Steve Ventnor was less fortunate, dribbling his sixth up
+the hill, fifty yards short of the quarry, into which, trying a long
+cleek shot to clear it, he unfortunately drove. He waited to see the
+Sphynx carefully tee his ball and send it straight down the course which
+Patricia indicated, and then taking the bag from his caddy helped her
+into the path which zig-zagged down to where his ball lay, a hundred
+feet below.
+
+Patricia and the Sphynx had chosen the shorter way through the woods at
+the upper end and Steve and Aurora were alone.
+
+At the bottom of the slope behind a projecting crag Steve stopped and
+faced his companion.
+
+"Aurora," he said.
+
+"Yes, Steve."
+
+"Is it true you're going to marry McLemore?"
+
+Aurora picked a flower which grew in a ledge beside her before she
+replied.
+
+"Why do you ask?"
+
+"I thought I'd like to know, that's all. People say you are----"
+
+"_I_ haven't said so."
+
+"Then," eagerly, "you aren't?"
+
+"I don't see what right you've got to ask."
+
+"I haven't--only I thought I'd like to be the first to congratulate
+him."
+
+"Oh, is that all?"
+
+"And I thought I'd like to tell you again that I love you better than
+anybody could--and that I always will, even if you marry him. He's a
+very nice fellow but--but I'll be very unhappy----"
+
+"Will you? I don't believe it."
+
+"Why do you say that?"
+
+"Because you're too cool about it. You wouldn't think he was such a nice
+fellow if you were jealous of him. Why haven't you played more with me
+this summer?"
+
+"I had to work--you know that. What's the use----"
+
+"If you love me as you say you do, I don't see how you could be so cool
+about--about seeing us together----"
+
+"Perhaps I wasn't as cool as I looked. See here, Aurora, you mustn't
+talk like that." He had turned and before she could escape him, had
+taken her in his arms and was kissing her. "Don't say I'm cool. I love
+you, Aurora, with every ounce that's in me. I want you more than I can
+ever want anything again in this world or the next. I'm not going to let
+you marry that fellow or anybody else--do you understand?"
+
+She had yielded for a moment to his warmth because there didn't seem to
+be anything else to do. But when she slowly disengaged herself from his
+arms and faced him her eyes were wet and the color flamed through her
+tan.
+
+"Steve!" she stammered. "Steve!--how could you?"
+
+But he still faced her passionately, undaunted. "It's true," he said
+huskily. "I love you--you can't marry him--I won't let you----"
+
+He took a step forward but this time she retreated.
+
+"Don't, Steve--not again--not now--you mustn't. They'll be coming
+out in the open there in a moment. I'll never say you are cool
+again--never--after that. You're not cool--not in the least--I was
+mistaken. I've never seen you--like this before--you're different----"
+
+"You made me do it. I couldn't stand your saying I didn't care. I'm not
+sorry," he went on, "he couldn't love you the way I do."
+
+"I think perhaps you're right," said Aurora coolly. "In the meantime----"
+
+"Won't you give me an answer?"
+
+"In the meanwhile," she went on, preening her disordered hair, "you are
+supposed to be playing the golf of the New Era----"
+
+[Illustration: "'You are supposed to be playing the golf of the New
+Era.'"]
+
+"Aurora----"
+
+"No," she had taken up his golf bag and was walking away.
+
+"Won't you answer me?" he pleaded.
+
+"Get your ball out of this quarry," she said, relentlessly, "and I'll
+think about it."
+
+It took Steve Ventnor thirteen strokes to play out of that quarry,
+which, for a fellow with a record of seventy-two at Apawomeck, was
+"going it." The first stroke he missed clean; the second he sliced into
+a clay-bank; his third struck the rocks and bounded back against the
+wall behind him, finding lodgment at last in some bushes where he
+took three more. To make matters worse, Aurora was laughing at him,
+hysterically, unrestrainedly, and Patricia and the Sphynx, who had
+appeared on the path above, were joining in the merriment.
+
+"Oh, I'll lift," he growled at last.
+
+"You can't," laughed Aurora. "It's against the rules." And Patricia
+appealed to, confirmed the statement.
+
+Three more swings he took, each of them in impossible lies, the last of
+which smashed his niblick. After that there followed a period of strange
+calmness--of desperation, while he worked his ball into a good lie on
+the far side of the quarry from which, with a fine mashie shot he lifted
+it over the cliffs and into the open beyond.
+
+Steve Ventnor toiled wearily up the hill at the heels of his caddy,
+struggling for his lost composure. He caught up with Aurora at a point
+half-way up where he took the golf bag from her shoulder and faced her
+again.
+
+"Won't you answer me, Aurora?" he pleaded, breathlessly.
+
+"No, I won't," she said, calmly. "You swore--horribly--in the bushes."
+
+"I didn't."
+
+"I heard you," firmly. "I'll never marry a man who swears," and she
+hurried on. When Ventnor joined the others, he found Patricia sitting on
+a rock making up the score, which at the present moment stood:
+Ventnor--20; McLemore--9.
+
+"How do you like it, Steve?" asked Patricia, still figuring.
+
+"Oh, it's great!" said Steve, ironically, holding up his shattered
+niblick. "I like granite, it's so spongy."
+
+"I'm afraid you've got a bad temper, Steve."
+
+But Ventnor had taken out his pipe, lit it and was now doggedly moving
+toward his ball.
+
+The luck favored him on his next volley, for playing two mid-irons down
+the hill, he reached the level meadow below safely, while McLemore
+sliced his second into a row of hot frames, where an indignant
+horticulturist and two dogs contributed an interesting mental hazard.
+But the Sphynx handed the farmer a dollar in exchange for lacerated
+feelings and glass, and the match went on. Over the brook McLemore lay
+thirteen, having "dubbed" his shot into the stream, but playing steadily
+after that reached the top of the long hill before them, safely in four
+more; while Ventnor lost his ball in the bushes and was now playing
+twenty-five.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+
+From there on, the luck varied and at the Stockbridge farm the score
+stood McLemore, 21; Ventnor, 30. It seemed a difficult lead to overcome,
+for the Sphynx was playing straight with a mid-iron, while Steve, whose
+only hope lay in getting distance, had twice pulled into rough grass,
+which cost him lost balls and extra strokes. The wonder was how he
+played at all, for Aurora had refused to marry him three times in the
+last twenty minutes. The result was inevitable, and so like the man in
+the adage, after playing thirty-eight strokes, he "went up in the air,"
+missing shot after shot and relinquishing all claim to consideration,
+playing on only because fate seemed to demand it of him.
+
+At the Van Westervelt's fence both men got off "good ones," landing well
+in the middle of the pasture and had gone forward into the field, their
+caddies close behind them, when from the shelter of a clump of trees
+along the stream to their left, there emerged a shadow. Aurora saw it
+first.
+
+"It's a bull," she said.
+
+"No, it's only a cow," ventured the Sphynx, whose tauric glasses were
+not adjusted to distances--or to bulls.
+
+"I'm sure it's a bull," repeated Aurora.
+
+Steve glanced at the beast over his shoulder, and then took a brassey
+from his bag.
+
+"He won't bother us," he muttered. But the animal was approaching
+majestically, pausing now and then to paw up the dirt with his front
+hoofs and throwing a cloud of dust over his back.
+
+"It's your parasol, Patty," said Aurora.
+
+"Or Jimmy's vest," put in Patricia.
+
+"You'd better run for it, you and Aurora," said Ventnor. "You can easily
+make the fence."
+
+"And you?"
+
+"I'm going to play this shot. It's the prettiest lie I've had all day."
+
+"Come, Aurora," said Patricia, taking up her bag. "There's no time to
+lose. He's really coming this way," and gathering up her golf bag and
+skirts, she ran. The Sphynx, meanwhile, still holding his mid-iron in
+his hand, was undecided. His ball was twenty yards further on, and his
+eyes shifted uneasily from the bull to an old apple-tree within a
+reaching distance. The women by this time had reached a convenient stile
+and were perched upon it shouting.
+
+"Run, Steve!" they cried. "He's coming!"
+
+Ventnor, who was addressing his ball, glanced up for a moment and then
+swung. It was the prettiest shot that he had made all day, for the ball
+started with a low trajectory and soared and soared, clearing the fence
+on the far side of the field, a carry of two hundred yards, and landed
+in the next meadow. Then he turned, club in hand, and looked at the bull
+which now stood twenty paces away, eying them viciously. It was too late
+to make a sprint for the fence, and like McLemore, Steve wistfully eyed
+the apple-tree. But he brandished his brassey manfully and prepared to
+jump aside if the bull lowered his head and rushed him. It was at this
+moment that Jimmy McLemore, white as a sheet, made up his mind to run.
+Jimmy's red vest decided the matter, and scorning Ventnor, with a bellow
+which lent wings to Jimmy's feet, the brute lowered its thick head and
+charged, passing like a tornado under the limb to which McLemore had
+fled for safety. Steve Ventnor forgot to be frightened and stood leaning
+on his club roaring with laughter, for the Sphynx's dignity had always
+been a fearful and wonderful thing to him. He heard the voices of the
+women behind him, pleading with him to run, but in his heart Steve
+Ventnor made a mighty resolution that run he would not. He had no
+dignity like Jimmy's to lose, but the spectacle Jimmy made decided him.
+It took some strength of mind to moderate his pace as he picked up
+Patricia's red parasol and walked toward the fence. The bull however,
+refused to be distracted, and stood pawing the ground beneath the
+apple-tree, bellowing up at the soles of the Sphynx's boots and making
+havoc of the beautiful Campbell mid-iron, which was the only thing of
+Jimmy's that he could touch.
+
+The women on the stile were laughing, Patricia frankly, uncontrollably,
+Aurora nervously, looking at Steve as he came up with a queer little
+anxious wrinkle between her eyebrows.
+
+"I haven't any patience with you," she said. "You might have been gored
+to death."
+
+Ventnor was still laughing. "I never saw Jimmy run before," he said.
+"We'll have to get him out of that somehow. I think I'll have a try at
+it with Patricia's parasol."
+
+But Patricia quickly snatched it from his hand. Her little drama had
+worked out far more beautifully than she had ever hoped it would, and
+she didn't propose to have it ruined now.
+
+"Nothing of the sort," she cried. "You may do whatever you like with
+your own skin, but that is a perfectly good French parasol, and it's
+mine." And she put it behind her back.
+
+Meanwhile the Sphynx was pelting the brute below him with apples and
+shouting anathema, both of which rolled from the animal's impervious
+back, as he circled angrily around the tree, up which he showed every
+disposition to climb. From tragic-comedy the scene had degenerated into
+broadest farce.
+
+"It's like Sothern playing a part of Georgie Cohan's," commented
+Patricia, sweetly. "Is he apt to be there all day?"
+
+"It looks so," said Aurora, struggling between anxiety and laughter. "We
+really ought to do something."
+
+But Patricia had settled herself comfortably on the top rail of the
+fence. Things were going very much to her liking.
+
+"What?" she asked.
+
+"Tell somebody. There's a wagon coming this way now."
+
+"But how about the Cross-Country Cup?" looking at her watch. "There's
+only an hour and a half to finish in."
+
+"But we can't leave him up there," said Steve, more seriously. "That
+bull will be there until--until the cows come home."
+
+"Jimmy is perfectly safe," said Patricia, "unless he goes to sleep and
+falls out; and he can't starve unless he throws all the apples at the
+bull."
+
+"Patty, you're heartless," said Aurora, but she laughed when she said
+it.
+
+The farmer who came along in the wagon took in the situation at a glance
+and laughing more loudly than any of them, consented at last to drive to
+the barnyard and tell the farmer.
+
+"It won't do any good," he said, sagely. "That bull won't go back until
+he follows the cows at milking time. He might quit before that--I dunno.
+I'll do what I can though." And with a laconic chirrup to his nag, he
+departed in the direction of the Van Westervelts' farmyard.
+
+The party of three followed him with their eyes until he had disappeared
+in a cloud of dust and then examined the apple-tree from which the
+Sphynx's legs dangled hopelessly. The rest of him was hidden among the
+leaves.
+
+"Until the cows come home," said Patricia, solemnly, and looking into
+one another's eyes all three of them burst into shameless laughter. And
+with that laugh free-masonry was established. It was plainly to be read
+in Aurora's eyes. The toppling of Jimmy's dignity had been too much for
+her own sense of gravity.
+
+Patricia meanwhile had taken out her watch. "This, my dear children,"
+she said, indicating with a fine gesture, the Sphynx's apple-tree, "is
+one of the hazards of the New Game of Golf. There is only an hour and a
+half to finish in. Play the game, you two, I must wait."
+
+"It wouldn't be the sporting thing," said Steve, struggling with a
+desire to obey.
+
+"I'd like to know who is as good a judge of the rules of a game as its
+inventor," said Patricia. "Am I right, Aurora?"
+
+Aurora by this time was fingering at the strap of Ventnor's golf bag.
+"Yes," she decided, "as Patricia says, it's in the game."
+
+Steve glanced at her quickly, joyfully, but her head was lowered and she
+was already down the steps of the stile and walking along the road
+toward the adjoining meadow. Ventnor's eyes met Patricia's for the
+fraction of a second of wireless telegraphy, after which Steve plunged
+down the steps and followed his caddy.
+
+The gabled roof of Augustus North's house was visible above the trees
+scarcely half a mile away, but the paper chase led to it by devious,
+sequestered ways, which Steve Ventnor and his caddy scrupulously
+followed. Many times on the way they stopped in the shadow of the trees,
+and but a few minutes of time remained when Steve ran down his putt. It
+had taken him just one hundred and three shots to do that last nine
+hundred yards in an hour and forty minutes. His caddy counted them;
+which only went to prove her a conscientious person, for under the
+circumstances book-keeping was a difficult matter.
+
+Perched upon her stile, in smiling patience Patricia waited "until the
+cows came home," while Mortimer Crabb, who had been notified over the
+telephone of the disaster, drove up to see the final chapter in Jimmy
+McLemore's undoing. For the farmer came and at some pains extracted him
+from his perilous post. The Crabbs drove McLemore to his home in their
+motor and then ran over to the Norths to hear how the cross-country
+match had finished. The happy couple met them at the steps.
+
+"The ball is in the hole, Patty, dear," said Steve Ventnor. "Do I win
+the Cup?"
+
+"You do," said Patricia, looking at her watch, "by three hours and a
+half. And it's a loving-cup, Steve, with cupids and things, I had it
+made especially for you and Aurora."
+
+Aurora kissed Patricia with enthusiasm.
+
+"How did you know, Patty, it was to be Steve?"
+
+"Simplest thing imaginable! Because Steve is the most adorable boy,
+always excepting Mort, that was ever born--and then you know,
+Aurora--you couldn't have married Jimmy!"
+
+"That's true," said Aurora, thinking of Jimmy's legs in the apple-tree,
+"I really couldn't."
+
+Steve refused to return to the Crabbs' to dinner, so the Makers of
+Opportunities departed alone. Mortimer drove slowly through the
+gathering dusk and Patricia sat silent.
+
+"Are you happy, Patty?" he asked, at last.
+
+"No, of course not," said Patricia, pinching his ear, "you know I'm
+never happy with you, Mort."
+
+"Aren't you getting a little tired of putting the world in order?"
+
+"Oh, yes. But young people are _so_ provoking. They can never make up
+their own minds, and you know _somebody_ has to do it for them."
+
+"Haven't you ever wondered how the world would get on without you?"
+
+"No, but sometimes I've wondered how you would."
+
+"I? Ah! I wouldn't get on at all. And yet you know there's a
+responsibility in being married to a Dea ex Machina."
+
+"What, please?"
+
+"The machinery may run down."
+
+"And then?"
+
+"The goddess may end in the ditch."
+
+"Mort!"
+
+"Or get a blow-out--you came near it, Patty."
+
+"I didn't, Mort--ever."
+
+"How about----?"
+
+He was going to say John Doe, but she put her fingers over his lips so
+that he only mumbled.
+
+"No, Mort--I'm a prudent goddess--a chauffeuse extraordinary."
+
+"I'm sure of that, but----"
+
+"But what?"
+
+"No car can endure so long out of the garage."
+
+"You're a silly old thing." She sighed comfortably and leaned her head
+over on his shoulder. In a moment she spoke again. "I think you're quite
+right though, Mort."
+
+"Aren't you tired of making opportunities for other people?"
+
+She made a sound that he understood.
+
+"I am, a little, you know, Patty," he added. The motor purred gently as
+it glided out of a country road into the turnpike.
+
+"What do you say if we begin making opportunities for each other?"
+
+She started up with a laugh.
+
+"I never thought of that," she said. "When shall we start?"
+
+"At once, Patty. If you'll provide the opportunity," and he kissed her,
+"I'll be its thief."
+
+But she captured him at once.
+
+THE END.
+
+
+
+
+A SPLENDID SOCIETY NOVEL
+
+
+The Bolted Door
+
+     By GEORGE GIBBS, author of "Tony's Wife," etc. Illustrated by
+     the author. 12mo. Cloth, $1.25 net.
+
+The story of an ambitious young inventor and a young society girl, who
+are forced into marriage by the will of an eccentric millionaire uncle.
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+
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+
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+woman of a fast life. Charlton's tardy recognition of his wife's worth
+meets no response from her. But having finally broken with the other
+woman, he starts in all over again to win his wife's love.
+
+ _Illustrated. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50._
+
+
+The Guarded Flame
+
+"In quite a different field, in a vastly different atmosphere, the
+author has come near to the master genius of Thomas Hardy. 'The Guarded
+Flame' is a work of wonderful power, but above all a work of truth. No
+novel has been written since the beginning of Hardy's literary activity
+that has more clearly approached his marvelous subtlety in the depiction
+of human nature."--_The Cleveland Plain Dealer._
+
+ _12mo. Cloth, $1.50._
+
+
+Vivien
+
+This story gives the detailed experiences of a girl who has to fight
+single-handed against the greatest dangers to which a woman can be
+exposed and to see sides of life of which her more fortunate sisters are
+kept in ignorance. It is fascinatingly written and with a clear
+understanding of human nature.
+
+ _12mo. Cloth, $1.50._
+
+
+ D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
+ NEW YORK         LONDON
+
+
+
+
+By ELINOR GLYN
+
+
+His Hour
+
+     The story of the loves of a Russian Prince and a beautiful
+     Englishwoman by the author of "Three Weeks." With frontispiece.
+     12mo. Cloth, $1.50.
+
+A young English widow of wealth and position traveling in Egypt meets a
+Russian prince of great personal charm and high rank, whose masterful
+attentions at once pique the lady's warm interest. They are companions on
+her return voyage to England, during which her emotions are further
+stirred by the varied characteristics of the young prince, and almost
+immediately she leaves for St. Petersburg to visit her godmother, a woman
+of rank and fashion, whom she had hitherto never met. In St. Petersburg
+she again meets the young prince, who is a great favorite. Love between
+them develops, but the man's assurance and frank expectations render the
+lady haughty and reserved. There are occasions, however, when she yields
+to his ardor in so far as to show that she loves him. From this point the
+author then spins a vivid and exotic love story, and one that will appeal
+to all classes of fiction readers.
+
+"A tale that many will read with bated breath."--_New York Herald._
+
+"The wild nature of the Russian prince, as well as the charmingly free
+and easy society of St. Petersburg, are admirably drawn."--_Philadelphia
+Public Ledger._
+
+
+ D. APPLETON & COMPANY, NEW YORK
+
+
+
+
+ Transcriber's Notes:
+
+ --Text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_).
+
+ --Punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected.
+
+ --Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.
+
+ --Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.
+
+ --The author's long dash style has been preserved.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The Maker of Opportunities, by George Gibbs
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MAKER OF OPPORTUNITIES ***
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